


In Your Heart Shall Mourn

by L1av



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergent, Cock Warming, Depressed Bucky Barnes, Depressed Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling Out of Love and Finding It Again, Happy Ending, M/M, Not Quite Daddy Kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painful Sex, Panic Attacks, Post Avengers Infinity War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prescription Drug Abuse, Retired Super Soldiers, Switch Bucky Barnes, switch steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 38,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/pseuds/L1av
Summary: After roughly twenty years of marriage, Steve has found himself entrenched in the only war he's terrified he'll lose. To what ends will Steve go to keep his family together? Even enhanced humans have breaking points and Steve is reaching his.





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the wonderful [NurseDarry](http://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) for beta-reading this fic! Thank you so much!!!
> 
> Additional tag warnings will be updated in Part Two. Part Two will hopefully be up either end of this week or sometime the week after!

It’s raining. It always seems to rain nowadays. Steve believes somehow, someway the heavens  _ know _ that everything he's worked so hard to be is now a sham. A façade. A shined, dolled up toy to be displayed when beneficial, but other than that, hidden in a box. 

Captain America became something to  _ invest _ in. He’s plastered on toys, cups, mugs, blankets, clocks, gift bags, purses,  _ mailboxes _ , even! Businessmen trade their stocks in Captain America like they trade in Hershey’s Chocolate or Coca Cola. He isn’t even a hero anymore. 

Steve stopped being Captain America the day he nearly killed one of his best friends. People thought he picked it back up when he’d helped defeat Thanos. The world had been wrong. But just because the world was wrong didn’t mean it cared to recognize its mistake.

Steve puts on the monkey suits, smiles for the camera and shakes Republican and Democrat hands alike, all in the guise of making amends and diplomacy. He had to give up so much to move forward– but he  _ had _ to move forward. Having been a war criminal, even one who’d saved the world, wasn’t something he could just walk away from. Not after he and Bucky stopped running.

Steve had a lot of amends to make up for… after that time. That  _ war _ . It wasn’t even a war. Thanos had been the war. The dispute with Tony? With the Accords? It was the world out to hurt the man he loved the most, and what was he supposed to do? How could he let them crucify Bucky like some scapegoat? How could he let Tony kill him for something Bucky wasn’t even directly responsible for?

Steve had lost his friends. His family. …He had almost killed Tony Stark. 

Thunder beats down overhead, like rage incarnate– seething with heated malice. Steve blinks, watching the heavy rainfall– tears shed over a dead man who’s too stubborn to actually die. He hardly even ages. It’s been twenty years since Thanos and yet here Steve still is. He doesn’t even look a day over thirty. 

The doctors think it’s the serum. He and Bucky age more slowly. They do age, apparently. Just not at a rate that’s quantifiable. They weren’t deemed immortal, but no doctor was willing to put a guestimate on how long their lifespans are. The closest guess they got was around 300. Steve stopped caring then. He didn’t want to hear it. 

He doesn’t want to live in a world where his children and their children…and their children are all gone. He doesn’t want that. He thought– he thought maybe, just  _ maybe _ it would’ve been okay because he had Bucky. But that’s all changed now.

He proposed to Bucky the day T’Challa removed him from cryo. It had been raining then.

It’s always raining. 

Bucky was there, shivering from the chill cryo left, tears mixing with water falling from his chin as the scientists worked to bring his body temp back up. His hand trembling as it clutched Steve so tight.

_ You’re gonna be okay, Buck. You’re gonna be okay.  _

Thunder crackles against the sky again. It’s so loud it makes the windows quiver. Steve just stares at the trembling window frames. The house could splinter into thousands of pieces and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

_ Marry me. _

_ What?! _

_ Marry me. We could– we can– I– _

_ Shh, Steve, I know. I love you too. _

They had been married once Bucky had had the coding removed and been declared  _ safe _ . It was a closely guarded secret, but Steve still invited Tony. He waited every day by the phone in hopes that Tony would finally call. Tony did finally call when Thanos loomed on the horizon. He’d never congratulated Steve and Bucky on their marriage. Steve deserved the cold-shoulder.

He’d almost killed Tony. It had been that moment, a shield raised up high above Steve’s head about to strike Tony, that Steve realized it wasn’t worth it. Once they realized all the damage they’d caused, all the strain they’d put on each other and the people they called friends– they both had realized it wasn’t worth it. Even with the  _ War _ over. Thanos gone. Even with the government working on a compromise that would satisfy the world and Steve. Their relationship never healed, not completely. 

Retirement hadn’t been so bad so far. Steve never wanted to touch the Captain America shield again after he’d nearly chopped Tony’s head off with it. After Thanos, he knew he didn’t need it anymore anyway. Retirement is where Steve wants to be now. With Bucky. But things aren’t as easy as they’d been when their relationship was new. Retirement and a thirty-year marriage brings on difficulties Steve never thought he’d face.

They had adopted twins– Billy and Tommy. Their birth isn’t entirely under the most  _ normal _ of circumstances. Wanda Maximoff, for one, is their mother, but she’d refused to tell Steve and Bucky who the father was. It wasn’t till years later that Vision came upon Steve and Bucky’s doorstep proclaiming himself the father, but he was glad Steve had adopted them. Tommy looks so very much like Pietro, Steve sometimes wonders how  _ Vision _ ’ _ s _ genes play any part. Vision had never asked to see the boys. He hasn’t been back since. It had been raining that day too.

“Steve,” Bucky says, pulling Steve out of his head like a child jerking a worm from the ground– unceremonious and unkind. 

“Yeah Buck,” Steve replies distantly. He’s watching Bucky’s reflection in the window. He looks as tired as any parent raising two teenagers. God, where did they go wrong? They’re always so tired now. They're always so…

“Billy’s locked himself in the bathroom again and I’m two seconds away from ripping Tom’s head off.” 

Steve winces. Being the children of Wanda and Vision, Billy and Tommy were never meant for anything other than exceptional talent. They had started showing their powers at young ages, and Steve and Bucky had nowhere else to turn except Charles Xavier– headmaster of Xavier’s School for the Gifted. Steve and Bucky had packed their things, brought their children, and moved to North Salem, New York– closer to the Xavier School. Even with training and being around other people like them, Billy had still felt different. He’s always quiet. Always cloistered like he wields the pain his mother felt the day she found out she was pregnant. A mother shouldn’t meet pregnancy with such remorse and sadness. 

All because of that  _ stupid, stupid _ war. The United States hadn’t been so kind to her. Last Steve heard, Tony was  _ still _ appealing her deportation. Last  _ Bucky _ heard, Wanda’s whereabouts were unknown. No one remembers she helped defeat Thanos. The world still sees her as a monster.

“What’s Tommy doin’?” Steve’s voice is lifeless, hoarse and unused. When did his voice, the voice that inspired the masses, when did it become so abandoned? 

“He’s teasin’ Billy about– about somethin’. I dunno. Just– just deal with it, okay? You’re always good at this shit.”

“You’re their father too,” Steve knows it’ll start a fight, but he’s so  _ tired _ of this dance. Bucky wasn’t always like this. He was at every baseball game with Tommy. He took Billy to every dance lesson. He had been such a good father. Steve doesn’t know what happened. He doesn’t know what he did to make it all go so wrong. But he did something. He had to have. Why else would Bucky Barnes grow so distant from his family? He’d always been such a family man. 

“Steve,” Bucky’s clipped voice is as thunderous as the atmosphere outside, “deal with it. I’m sick of it!”

“What? Of bein’ a father? We signed up for this sixteen years ago, Buck! Those are our _ children! _ ” Steve sees lightning flash across Bucky’s face; Bucky’s beautiful, ageless, rugged face. 

“I’ll make dinner. Just deal with it.” Bucky walks out of the living room. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky just kept on walking out into the night and forever away from their lives. He’s threatened as much at least three times this week. 

Steve swallows, looking up at the ceiling. Billy’s up there, probably folded into the bathtub and crying. The tub makes him feel more grounded, apparently. Something about the porcelain it’s made from. 

“Tommy!” Steve shouts, his voice full of authority and weight– but still dead. Everything’s always so dead around him now. Maybe the rain has drowned the man he used to be. It’s  _ always _ raining.

Tommy appears in front of Steve in the blink of an eye. He looks so much like Pietro that sometimes Steve even thinks it’s the man’s ghost. “Pops,” he says, smooth as silver. 

Thunder booms above the house again.

“What’s goin’ on? You got your dad on edge, and Billy’s in the bathroom.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Billy ain’t in the bathroom. He teleported out. And since when does Bucky give a shit?”

Steve grabs Tommy’s wrist, yanking the teen over to him. His eyes are lit up with a rage he hasn’t felt since he was looking at a face sporting a chestnut goatee and caramel brown eyes. 

“He’s your  _ father _ ,” Steve growls, “of course he gives a shit!” 

Tommy uses his hyperkinetic abilities to go right through Steve and backs away. This is why groundings always been nigh impossible. Both his children can get out of any room, go through any door, or be in any other state in a matter of seconds. Steve can’t fault Bucky for feeling worn out sometimes. Their children aren’t easy to handle.

Tommy’s pale face is sullen, like the waxen side of the moon. He looks up at Steve with Pietro’s eyes, shaking his head. “No, Dad. He ain’t my father. You are. I only got one.” With that, he races out of the room at the speed of light, and Steve’s left standing there, watching the lights flicker as the storm rolls on above their home.

_ Their _ home. Yet sometimes it feels more like a prison. 

* * *

Billy’s sitting on the roof with a tiny forcefield above his head to block the rain when Steve finally finds him. His legs are pulled up to his chest and his black hair is sticking to his face as rainwater dribbles from it. Steve bites his lip, wondering if Billy’s having trouble maintaining the forcefield or if he’d intentionally let the rain beat down on him before finally putting it up.

“Hey stranger.” Steve scoots onto the roof. Of course Billy would be here. It’s where he’s always gone ever since he was a child. Steve remembers the days when Bucky would be frantic, tearing the house practically upside down to try to find Billy.

The first time Bucky had found Billy on the roof, he cried. He had held Billy in his arms and cried about how terrified he’d been. How does a man like that go from being the best father to a man his children hardly even know? Worse, how does Steve let it happen? 

“I skipped school today,” Billy says. He sniffs, wiping his wet bangs from his eyes. He’s as pale as the weak moonlight that’s struggling behind black clouds.

Steve just clenches his jaw, coming to sit by his kid. Billy widens the force field to shield Steve from the rain. 

“I’m sixteen now. The Accords say we’ve gotta register at sixteen. They’ve got all these Army guys around the school. Men in suits and all that shit.” 

“You don’t wanna sign.” Steve nods. He didn’t either. Oh the things he’d sacrificed to try to repair a dying friendship. Looking back now, he’s sure he’d do it again because of Billy and Tommy– but maybe he’d have fought more for what he’d wanted. Tony was never going to be his friend again anyway.

“I don’t  _ want _ the world to know I exist. What I can do? Dad– I could, I could destroy the world. Loki said–”

“Loki, is a homicidal maniac and you don’t need to worry about him.” Steve doesn’t like the way his voice trembles, but he tries to look as stern as he can for the sake of his son. Loki, upon his fourth visit after Thanos came, of course shoved thoughts into Billy’s head. Thoughts about rising to godhood, about becoming the Sorcerer Supreme. Luckily, Dr. Strange had been there during those times. Where Professor Xavier couldn’t help, Dr. Strange stepped in. He's like an uncle to Billy now, invited to every party and holiday. Thanos brought them all together. Steve can at least thank that horrible time for the friends he now has.

“They all look at me differently now. They all  _ know _ what I can do. They’re terrified of me.” 

“You can’t be the only kid in that school with your abilities.” Steve crinkles up his brow, disbelief ebbing into his face. When did the world become so crowded with enhanced people? Mutants, they call them now. Had it always been this way?

“It’s not that. It’s who my parents are. I mean– my birth ones.” 

Steve gulps. He’s known for a long time that Billy and Tommy had found out on their own. He’d even tried to have a conversation with them and Bucky about it. Bucky had been willing– the kids hadn’t. 

“Are you and Bucky gonna get a divorce?” Billy asks, his brown eyes big and round. He’s got such old eyes for a boy so young. It rips Steve’s heart to shreds. 

“Why do you two insist on calling him that? You used to call him Daddy.” 

“I was six,” Billy replies, straight-faced.

“He loves you.”

“You’re not answering my question.” 

Thunder reminds them of its presence, rolling loudly across the sky. A flash of lightning streaks the dark clouds in the distance. 

Steve doesn’t have an answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to answer, it’s that he  _ can’t _ .

“I knew it,” Billy grumbles. “You two were the perfect couple, you know? They talk about you all the time at school. You’re legends.” 

“That’s the problem about legends,” Steve sighs heavily, “they’re not real. Bucky and I have our problems, but we’re gettin’ by. We do love each other. You don’t just give up on someone after spending most of your life fighting for each other’s lives.” 

“He hasn’t slept in your room in two weeks.” Billy says it so matter-of-factly that Steve feels his heart twist sharp and sudden. He hates that he can’t hide what’s happening between him and Bucky from the kids. “I know cause I can sense it. You two pretend to go to bed together. You fight. Then he goes downstairs when he thinks me’n Tom are sleeping.” 

Steve doesn’t have an answer. He’s beginning to find himself at a loss for words more and more nowadays. Maybe that’s why his voice always sounds so unused. 

“Tommy hates him.”

Steve sighs, looking out at the pouring rain. “Tommy does not–”

“He’s my twin brother, do you honestly think I don’t know what’s in his mind? Besides, I can  _ read  _ minds. I could read yours too! I just don’t! I don’t because I don’t…” his voice cracks, tears start slipping from those eyes, “I don’t wanna know the pain you feel. It’s so much. I know it’s so much.” 

“Hey, hey,” Steve coos. He pulls Billy into him, cupping the boy’s head. He lets Billy cry into his chest. His son clings to his shirt, fisting into the fabric while his tears make Steve feel cold. “I’m not in pain. I’ve got you. You were the best gift that ever happened to me. I’m so proud of you n’ Tommy.” 

“I miss our family,” Billy wails, “I miss what we were! We use’ta… we use’ta…be… we…” He’s sobbing too hard that even the thunder listens as it rumbles softer. 

The rain dumps over Steve’s head. Billy’s long lost focus of the forcefield. The rain’s cold, soaks down into his bones, and brings back all kinds of memories. Memories of a plane crash, of thinking he would die freezing. Memories of his lungs seizing up on him like they did a lifetime ago. He closes his eyes, holding his son closer, and listens to those broken cries. 

“I miss our family too.” Steve feels an all-too-familiar lump lodge deep in his throat. 

When did this all go wrong? 

* * *

Bucky’s in the kitchen when Steve finally comes in, sopping wet and dripping water all over the tiled floor. Bucky looks at him numbly, his eyes dark. He looks nothing like James Barnes, war hero and Howling Commando. Sometimes all Steve can see is the Winter Soldier, and he hates himself for that. Bucky  _ isn’t _ the Winter Soldier. He’s a man trying desperately to run from demons that don’t seem like they’ll ever let up. It’s been twenty years and still Bucky’s running. 

“You’re wet,” Bucky says.

“Billy was on the roof.” Steve shrugs. “He thinks we’re gettin’ a divorce.” 

Bucky’s eyes round, and for a fraction of a second, Steve sees his husband again. He sees the man he fell in love with. But like the lightning outside, it’s gone in a flash. The man who looks like the Winter Soldier is staring back at him, eyes calculating, cold and as grey as the storm that wails on. 

“We’re not, right?” Steve asks, his heart wrenching. “Right, Buck?”

Bucky looks down at the stove, stirring the pasta sauce. He’s always been a shit cook. But Steve used to love getting pasta served in bed when he was sick before the war. Idly, Steve wonders if that’s why Bucky chose to make it– because it’s the food Bucky always made when he wanted something to heal. God, Steve just wants this family to heal. 

Bucky doesn’t answer. He picks up the pot with his one hand and dumps it into the strainer. T’Challa made a beautiful one for him, but after Thanos, Bucky asked to have it removed. He had said he’d been done. He’d meant it.

Steve doesn’t push the issue. “I love you,” he whispers. If his heart pulls anymore in his chest, it’s going to burst out his back and splatter to the floor. 

Bucky grunts out an affirmation. He doesn’t even look at Steve as he walks by him to the living room. He swings along the grand staircase and cups his hand around his mouth. 

If Steve just closes his eyes, he could pretend none of this was happening. He could pretend that his life wasn’t one big joke. 

“Boys! Dinner!” Bucky calls from the foot of the stairs. He comes back into the kitchen but pauses next to Steve. 

Steve holds his breath. He’s afraid they’ll both explode if he takes the smallest inhale. 

“I love you too,” Bucky relinquishes, barely above a whisper. He then moves away from Steve, getting the plates and silverware as Billy and Tommy pound down the stairs. 

For half a second, Steve believes his family is fine. For half a second,  _ Steve _ believes he’s fine.

Bucky loves him. 

After over forty years together, marriage, growing up and war– Bucky loves him. 

* * *

It’s always tense in the bedroom. What was once a room for love and soft gasps between the sheets is now a black prison of anguish, trepidation and resentment. It’s where Bucky’s his meanest and Steve’s at his most vulnerable. Billy’s right. They do fight in the bedroom. 

Bucky’s changing into his pajama pants over in the corner. Steve’s in the bed with a book. He’s pretending not to look, but he can’t help it. Bucky’s still a beautifully landscaped body– hard and rippled with power. Seeing his little black sock over where his arm used to be brings both pain and a twisted happiness to Steve. Bucky sacrificed that arm for Steve once. And he sacrificed it again after Thanos for his children. He’s so beautiful that Steve almost forgets they’ve been suffering in this marriage for a couple of years now. 

“What?” Bucky snaps. 

Steve looks down at his book. He forgets which line he was even on. 

“What?” Bucky takes a step toward the bed, his eyes flashing with a defiance Steve has never seen pointed toward him. 

“Nothin’,” Steve says. “Just– you look, you look beautiful.” 

Bucky cocks a brow at him. 

And then it comes up, bubbling over like a steaming pot of water. “Nobody does the silent treatment like the Winter Soldier.” 

Bucky snarls, banging his fist into the wall. He breaks through the drywall but thankfully not through to the outside. “What was that, Rogers?”

“You’re icing me out!” Steve shouts, sitting up in bed. “I gave you a fuckin’ compliment and you don’t even reply!”

“I’m not here to feel grateful for every compliment like some show pony, Steve!” 

“You’re damn right you’re not!” Steve feels his heart thumping against his ribcage, wild like a stallion. He stands up, pounding his feet on the floor. “You’re here to be a father! Billy skipped school today! Did you even know that? The government is forcing him to register and he doesn’t want it! Do you know any of this?”

“Oh don’t start that,” Bucky points accusingly at Steve, “you didn’t wanna sign either and look what that got you! Our family’s suffered enough from opposing that shit! Just get ‘im to sign it!”

Steve moves right in front of Bucky like he’s ready to take the man down if necessary. “And why the fuck was that, huh? Why the fuck did I risk my life and lose one of my best friends?!” Steve waits, watching Bucky’s face. He’s flushing red but his jaw only clenches more. Steve knows he’s not going to answer. “Because of you, Bucky! Because of you! I almost  _ killed  _ him because I believed in you!” 

Bucky takes in a deep breath, his brow creasing. 

“Everything I did back then,  _ everything _ was for you. SHIELD? HYDRA? It was all for you, Buck! I risked  _ everything _ for you!” He shoves Bucky back because he can’t take it anymore. At least when they’re fighting, Bucky’s at least  _ looking _ at him.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Bucky whispers bitterly before storming out of the room.

Every night. Steve collapses to the floor, his knees banging roughly on the wood. He knows Billy can sense Bucky’s movements. But Bucky said he loves him. They’re not getting a divorce. Bucky wouldn’t– he couldn’t. 

Could he? 

* * *

Steve makes sure Billy goes to school the following day. He waves off his kids as he sits in the SUV, a shy smile on his face. The rain is a gentle pitter-patter atop the vehicle. He can’t bring himself to hit the gas and pull away from the drop-off. Going back home means facing Bucky alone. When did Steve start fearing his own husband? He closes his eyes, listening to the laughter of students and the gentle rhythm of rain. He hates his life. Steve’s been through rough patches before...

Family life so far has been the worst. 

He pulls away finally, filtering out into the flow of traffic. He misses Sam. He misses T’Challa. He misses  _ friendship _ . Everyone took a beating when Steve relinquished the Captain America title. Everyone took even more when Thanos came. Clint lost his whole family. He hasn’t resurfaced since the day he screamed at the heavens, cursing God for taking his family from him.

Sam became Captain America, a title he didn’t really want, but knew he had to take to atone for what had happened during the stupid Civil War. After Thanos, the world needed Captain America again.

T’Challa had closed off his borders to NATO when he had Bucky, but after the world found out, it was a shit-storm for him. He’d never stopped supporting Steve though. 

T’Challa helped clear Bucky’s name and got him off the terrorist list. America keeps an eye on Steve and Bucky still, but T’Challa is to thank for them getting their lives back. Thanos had helped in that regard; Bucky had fought him, T’Challa had reminded the world. 

Wanda’s missing. Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne are off doing their own thing. Dr. Strange is still in New York at the Sanctum. Rhodey and Tony still doing what they do best: appeasing the government.

Thor visits a lot. Loki unfortunately visits too, but his interest is more in Billy than anything else.

It’s not all bad news, Steve thinks as he pulls up to a red light. Natasha, Tony, Rhodey, and Sam all work closely with the government. They’re not the Avengers anymore, but they’re at least together. Natasha calls sometimes. Sam sends texts and gifts to the kids. 

Steve’s pretty sure it’s his own fault that Sam and Natasha struggle so hard keeping in touch with him. He stopped answering his phone the day Bucky stopped holding him at night. 

A car honks and Steve pulls forward, angry that he’d completely spaced out. He has a therapist now, for moments like this. He’s supposed to take medicine to keep himself  _ grounded _ but he’s never taken the pills once. He really should. It’s not like Billy doesn’t know the bottle is in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. 

He stops at a doughnut shop on the way home as a way to ease into the house. He tries to bribe Bucky whenever he can. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. After picking up a few chocolate doughnuts with sprinkles, and two cups of coffee, he feels a lot safer going back home.

* * *

Bucky’s standing behind the couch in the living room. He’s folding laundry and has a few piles on the back of the couch cushions. The TV’s on silently but he doesn’t seem to really be paying any attention to it. 

Steve wants to go up to him and kiss his neck, but he doesn’t. He drops the keys loudly into the key bowl by the door to alert Bucky and smiles sheepishly as he shows off the doughnut bag and the coffee. 

Bucky just blinks. 

“I– I thought you’d–”

“I already ate, Steve.” Bucky’s voice isn’t like the one Steve used to fall asleep to before World War II. It’s softer now, like fear found a way to coat it and cement it over. 

“Oh.” Steve deflates, his lips tugging into a disappointed frown. “Well, coffee? You lo–”

“Put it in the kitchen. Thanks.”

Steve feels like crying. He walks into the kitchen and puts the doughnuts on the table with the coffee. He wants to cry so badly because nothing he does can change what’s happening. He’s losing Bucky. After almost half a century of  _ existing _ with each other– he’s losing Bucky. Steve doesn’t know if he can take that blow. There’s only so many punches a man can take before his body just crumbles in. Turns out, he  _ can’t _ do this all day… 

Bucky shuffles into the kitchen with the laundry bin on his hip. He doesn’t smile when their gazes meet. 

“I love you,” Steve says, because it’s the only thing he can say to reach out and find some kind of affirmation that this isn’t one big lie. He walks over to Bucky, reaching for that hand. Bucky puts the laundry down to let Steve touch him. Steve cups Bucky’s hand, looking up at his husband’s blank face. “I love you, Bucky. I love you so much.” He pulls him into a hug because this is the closest they’ve been in weeks. Bucky doesn’t flinch– he doesn’t even respond. 

Steve holds him for a minute, two minutes, and then he lets go. His body turns to ice and he wheezes a little to breathe. A body perfected by the serum can’t seem to heal the heart it carries when it’s breaking.

Bucky moves over to the coffee, takes it and then walks out of the room. 

Steve sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like his lungs are constricting but he knows it’s all mental. He goes upstairs to the medicine cabinet and pops one of those pills his therapist gave him. He can’t do this anymore. He can’t… 

* * *

It’s always terribly quiet in the house when Billy and Tommy aren’t around. Steve loves the moment they bang the door open, shuffle around and take their shoes off before skipping up the stairs to hide away their backpacks and homework. 

Steve’s always pulling himself out of bed (because that’s what he does now, lies in bed) and finds his kids to talk about their days. Bucky never bothers anymore. 

He walks into Billy’s room, leaning on the doorframe. “Good day?”

Billy’s in the middle of changing his shirt. He’s looking at himself in the mirror and evaluating the way the fabric hangs off his lithe frame. 

“Do you have a date?” Steve asks.

Billy blushes, biting his lip. “M-maybe. I dunno. It’s kinda complicated.”

Steve flicks his eyebrows up. “Tell me. I’m an expert at complicated.”

Billy changes out of the shirt he’s wearing and goes for a third one. “Is black too much? I don’t wanna look goth.”

Steve smiles. “Tell me about who you’re seeing. And black’s fine. Want a tie?”

Billy looks at himself in the mirror. Black button down and black pants. He nods. “Please?”

Steve walks down the hall to his bedroom. He grabs a red tie and then returns to his son. “Spill, Billy.” 

Billy laughs softly as he stands before Steve to have the tie done up. “W-well, we met at school.”

“Mhm,” Steve says as he works his fingers around the tie to knot it. 

“It’s uh– well he’s an alien.”

“So we’re talking about a boy, okay.” Steve finishes up the tie and takes a step back. “Thor’s an alien and he’s a nice guy. I don’t judge.”

Billy smiles. “His name’s Teddy. He’s kinda like the Hulk? Except not as rage-crazy.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “That’s rude, but okay.” 

Billy shrugs. He slips over to the bed to grab his cell phone and comes back, showing a picture. “That’s him.”

The boy in the picture is blond and  _ extremely _ broad. He’s a little chunky but has a sweet smile and a good face. Steve already likes him. 

“Have fun,” Steve says. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

“Seriously, Dad?” Billy’s looking out the window. The rain is just a drizzle now. “I can teleport.”

Steve nods, his heart squeezing. When did his boy grow up? He used to struggle so hard with teleportation. Now it’s a miracle that Billy lets Steve drive him to school. 

“Hey Dad?”

Steve looks up, his brows pulling together. 

“You look like shit.”

Steve purses his lips. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

“I won’t blame you, you know.” Billy shrugs. “If you wanna leave ‘im.”

The knife in Steve’s heart shoves in just a bit further. He takes a big gasp of air, cursing his fast metabolism for already going through the pill he’d taken earlier. He’ll pop another one after Billy leaves. 

“I don’t give up on family,” Steve says. “Have fun, Billy.”

Billy nods, but his face looks– disappointed. He teleports out and Steve’s left with the worst sensation. He feels clammy and swollen. Do his kids really want him to leave Bucky?

* * *

Steve works up enough courage (and energy) to go downstairs and sit on the couch with Bucky. Bucky’s reading a paperback. The TV’s off and the room’s eerily quiet. Steve can’t even hear Bucky breathing. Tommy’s upstairs with his headphones plugged in, and Steve’s never wished more that his son would blare out some rock music or something. He hates how quiet the house is. 

Steve just watches Bucky. Those grey eyes flick quickly over the pages as he reads. He’s got the book nestled in his lap. Steve could never figure out how Bucky balances books like that. Then again, Bucky has one arm. It was either learn or get a tablet. Bucky had been adamant about just learning. 

“What Steve?” Bucky’s voice isn’t angry. He sounds just as tired as Steve is. When he looks over, his eyes are dark with deep bags beneath and his cheeks are sallow. 

Steve shrugs. “Just wanted to spend time with my husband.” 

Bucky closes the book. “Okay.” 

Hope lurches in Steve’s chest. He scoots closer, looking down at the book’s title.  _ A Painted House _ by John Grisham. 

“Any good?”

“It’s sad,” Bucky says. “But sad in a good way.” 

“How can sad be good?” Steve scoots even closer, pressing his shoulder to Bucky’s. He lets out a shaky breath. It feels so good to be so close. 

Bucky purses his lips, staring down at the book in his lap. “Everything’s goin’ to shit in the kid’s life. It’s in the point of view of a kid.” He looks up at Steve, his eyes clear and bright for once. “But it’s good cause little by little it’s all working out, but not always with a happy ending. But it’s satisfying.”

Steve wants to make a joke that that’s the most he’s heard out of Bucky’s mouth in a while, but he doesn’t. He’s too scared to break the uncertain ground he’s walking on. “Think I should read it?”

“If you want.” Bucky shrugs. “I mean, it’s kinda slow. Don’t know if you’d be into that.” 

“I like slow things.” Steve reaches out and– slowly– takes Bucky’s hand. Bucky lets him and they fold their fingers together. “Slow’s nice.” 

Bucky’s lips twitch into an attempted smile. He looks over at Steve, brow furrowed and eyes misty. Steve wants to know what’s going on in that mind. Was Steve perhaps giving mixed signals? There was no other reason for Bucky’s distance other than Steve doing something. He just wanted to know what he’d done so they could move on. 

God, he misses Bucky so much. 

“Steve,” Bucky sighs out. It’s timid and like he’s letting go of something but Steve bypasses it for hearing his name for the first time not spat out in anger. Steve drops his head against Bucky’s chest and squeezes Bucky’s hand. 

“I love you,” Steve whispers. 

Bucky swallows. Steve can feel it in the way his chest tightens. He doesn’t let the silence discourage him. This is the first chance Steve has had in a long time and nothing will take this away from him. 

He kisses Bucky’s neck, shy at first. His other hand goes between them to Bucky’s stomach and he knows he’ll lose feeling in it soon enough, but that doesn’t stop him. He noses along Bucky’s throat, smiling when Bucky arches his neck so Steve has better access. 

Steve throws caution to the wind. He misses this. He misses his husband so much that he can’t help the whine that escapes his mouth. Tossing a leg over Bucky, he straddles the man and keeps kissing at that neck, his hands running up and down Bucky’s broad chest.

Bucky sighs, his hand going to Steve’s hips. He rocks up and it’s the most exhilarating feeling Steve’s ever had. They’re connecting. They’re not crumbling and this is okay. Somehow, this whole relationship is going to be okay– Steve can save them.

He rocks down on Bucky, whining again as he mouths over to Bucky’s lips and they share a stilted, unsure kiss. Bucky’s lips are cold but Steve pushes on. He keeps rocking his body into Bucky, feeling his cock grow hard and Bucky’s responding. 

He doesn’t care that Billy could teleport in at any second. He doesn’t care that Tommy could whiz by at breakneck speed and back up to his bedroom being none the wiser. He  _ wants  _ their kids to see this. 

This is how they heal, right?

“Fuck me,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s ear before nibbling at the lobe. “Please, baby. I miss you.” 

Bucky exhales sharply. He pushes down on Steve’s hip with his hand. 

Steve sits back, watching. Bucky looks sick, like he’ll pass out or vomit at any moment but that doesn’t alarm Steve as much as how Bucky’s already gone flaccid again. 

“Not right now,” Bucky finally says. “I’m– I wanna read.” 

Steve can’t help the tears that fall from his eyes. He bites his lip to keep from sobbing. One step forward. This was a step forward. Steve just has to convince himself that. Bucky isn’t rejecting him. He just wants to read his book. There’s nothing wrong with that. So Steve nods, pulls himself off of Bucky and looks to his miserable hard-on beneath his sweatpants. 

Bucky notices it too. He looks away shamefully, like the thing actually  _ hurts _ him. Steve feels embarrassed. 

“I- I’ll start dinner.” Steve wipes at his eyes as the tears continue to stream down. Once he gets into the kitchen, he presses his back to the wall and lets out a shuddery sob. He wasn’t rejected. He wasn’t rejected… He  _ wasn’t _ rejected.

Steve slips down the wall and cries into his hands as quietly as he can. He doesn’t want to be like this, but here he is, a disgraced soldier only used as a museum piece for political gain and a way to pacify the American people. He willingly put a collar on himself to keep Bucky and build the family he has.

What did that get him?

A sham of a marriage.

* * *

Steve’s about finished with dinner when he hears someone pad into the kitchen. He turns to see Bucky’s face– red-rimmed eyes and those pale cheeks with a week’s worth of stubble on them. Steve smiles weakly.

Bucky pulls him into a hug. He cups Steve’s head and Steve lets himself be curled into his husband. He clutches onto Bucky’s shirt hard. 

“I know you love me,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry about earlier.” 

Steve feels the tears push from his eyes before he can even attempt to hide them away. He clings onto Bucky harder, nosing along Bucky’s neck. He wants to breathe Bucky in as much as he can because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance like this. 

“I don’t wanna fuck you.” Bucky starts stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I wanna make love to you.”

Steve lets out a whimper. He rocks on his feet, grinding his hips against Bucky’s. “Please.” He reaches behind Bucky, cupping his shoulder blades so desperately. He’s afraid to let go. If he lets go, Bucky could change his mind– or get angry. If Steve just clings like this then Bucky can’t do anything but fulfill his words. It’s not even the sex that Steve really cares about. It’s just that intimacy  _ means _ something to him. If Bucky’s with him, it’s because Bucky wants to be and Steve wants that reassurance again. He’s so starved for it. 

“Tonight, okay?” Bucky kisses Steve’s shoulder. “I promise.” 

Steve squeezes Bucky a bit tighter before letting go. Bucky’s promised. If Bucky’s proven anything to Steve it’s that he never breaks a promise. It’s like salve being put to a wound. Steve can breathe finally. He relaxes back as he slips from Bucky’s body and leans on the counter. “Dinner’s ready.”

Bucky looks around at the food. “I can see that.”

They share a private smile before silently fixing their plates and Steve goes to call Tommy down. 

* * *

Steve’s nervous. He’s nervous because it’s night and Bucky promised that he’d make love to him. Billy’s still not home, though he’s texted that he’s alive and having a great time. That’s not why Steve’s nervous. He’s nervous because he doesn’t want anything to go wrong. He’s lying naked in bed already. He’s made sure to clean himself and shave as much hair out of his crack (yeah that stuff bothers him) as he possibly could. He’s got cologne on and baby powder between his thighs. He’s ready. But he’s still so nervous. 

Steve used to never prepare himself so much like this. During the war, he was unshaven, dirty and raw. Bucky never cared, and he’d still stick his dick (and tongue) as far into Steve as he possibly could. They’d laugh through the embarrassing and disgusting moments and just shrug it off because that’s what love meant. Foul breath never used to bother them either. They’d wake up in each other’s arms and start kissing like they’ve never kissed before. Now Steve’s always rushing to the bathroom before he’ll kiss Bucky. He doesn’t want to give Bucky a reason to stop kissing him– those kisses are so rare now.

He hears someone slow and heavy moving up the stairs– Bucky, most likely. Panic flicks at his heart and he sits up. Should he be above the covers? Should he be on his hands and knees with his hole up in the air? Maybe he should’ve lit some candles? He scrambles over the blankets, moving to the middle of the bed. He’s sitting with his legs folded and his cock held in his hands to hide it away. He’s not sure why he’s being so shy. Bucky’s seen him naked more times than Steve’s own momma. 

Bucky opens the door. He blinks, flinching as he looks at Steve. His gaze darts to the clock and then back to Steve’s face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Steve doesn’t know how to breathe suddenly. 

“Steve.” Bucky relinquishes a gust of air. He comes into the room and closes the door to lean against it. For a moment he’s quiet, looking over at the curtains that Steve drew to block the neighbor’s view. Steve’s not sure anyone has ever looked in but he won’t risk it. 

“You promised.” Steve’s voice is so heavy with terror and trembling anticipation that he almost sounds like a nine-year-old again. Nine years was so long ago, but Steve still remembers exactly how his voice had sounded. It’s not a sound he likes anymore. It makes him feel weak. 

“I know I did.” Bucky slumps off the wall and starts undoing his jeans. “I’m outta practice, is all.” 

Steve laughs. “So m’I.”

Bucky smiles, shimming out of his pants. His cock is soft and curtained by a thick bush of black hair. Steve’s not exactly thrilled about all that, but it’s Bucky and he’s so desperate for this that he won’t even comment on it. Bucky used to always trim back his hair because Steve didn’t like how it tickled. 

“Do you–” Steve walks on his knees toward Bucky. “I could suck…suck it?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and looks at the curtain again. “No. I don’t want that.” 

Steve leans back on his ankles, sighing. “What do you want? Want me to kiss you? Take your shirt off like I used to?” He scoots closer again. “Used to love it when I ripped your shirts off.”

“No,” Bucky answers, crossing his one arm over his chest. “I like this shirt.”

“Oh,” Steve looks away, “okay.” 

They don’t move. Steve on the bed, smelling like baby powder and cologne. Bucky standing with his unkempt pubic hair peeking out from a shirt that’s a tad too long for him. It’s a nice enough shirt, Steve supposes. It’s a button down and somehow Bucky’s managed to not get any stains on it. He’s still kind of a messy eater. 

“Uh–” Steve crawls to the edge of the bed, sitting. “What do we do?”

Bucky finally starts to try to unbutton the shirt. He struggles with one hand and it takes him longer than it would Steve to pop the first button out. Steve just watches helplessly. He knows better than to offer help. 

Once Bucky’s out of his shirt, he lets it slip to the floor and he sits next to Steve. He stopped shaving his chest a long time ago. It’s fuzzy but not in an obnoxious or off-putting way. Steve likes it much more than he likes the hair around Bucky’s cock. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks.” Steve drops his head to Bucky’s shoulder. He reaches out to start massaging at Bucky’s chest but the man jerks back. “Oh– I-I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Bucky says softly. “I just– I don’t know if I really wanna do this?”

Steve’s heart’s taken too many beatings at this point. Instead, Steve’s skin reacts. It goes cold and hardens like it’s trying to protect Steve from the pain that shocks into his nerves. 

“We– it’s okay. We don’t– I just–” Steve can’t find words. His tongue is swelling up in his mouth and pretty soon he’ll start crying. He hates this. He wants his husband back. He wants the man who used to grab him by the hips and whisper the long list of things he’d like to do to Steve. He misses the man who would make sure his kids were tucked in safely before grabbing Steve’s legs and carrying him up to bed. He misses the man who used to kiss his nose goodnight. He misses  _ his _ Bucky. 

“No. No it’s not okay,” Bucky says. 

Steve sucks in a shaky breath. 

“I want to do this, Steve. I just don’t remember how.” 

“What do you mean?” Thunder rumbles off in the distance. It’s not raining yet but it’s impending now, like the impending doom on Steve’s soul that continues to gnaw on it like a used bone. 

“Can we just kiss? Start slow?” Bucky asks.

Steve offers a small smile. “Slow is good, remember?”

Bucky tries to smile back but it doesn’t look quite right. More like he’s sick than happy. 

They both lean in but stop a few times when they realize they’re going the same way. Steve laughs to try to dissipate how awkward they’re both feeling. “I’ll go left.”

Bucky nods.

The kiss is unsure and far colder than Steve wants. There’s no tongue, just lips exploring lips. He reaches up and cups Bucky’s face and thumbs over the sharp stubble there. He likes this stubble. He selfishly hopes he’ll feel it between his thighs before the night’s through. 

Bucky grabs Steve’s neck, just holding their heads together as he flicks his tongue out for the first time. Steve gasps because he’d forgotten the texture of Bucky’s rough tongue. They both taste like mint and Steve realizes then that Bucky hadn’t forgotten this. They’d both prepared in their own ways. He feels a little happier about that. He always worries where Bucky’s headspace is these days. 

Bucky’s tongue gets more eager as it circles Steve’s. Steve, feeling encouraged, swings onto Bucky’s lap, letting his cock drag along Bucky’s abs. Bucky just cups the back of Steve’s head and rocks up softly. 

It’s good like this. This slow pace of two people who used to know each other so intimately, but have to rediscover each other. It’s almost enough to make Steve forget how awkward this entire thing is. 

He pulls back, biting his spit-shined lips. “Um, is this– is this okay?”

Bucky nods. 

“Should we uh– we should do more?”

“N-no. I think we could– maybe lie down?”

Steve nods, crawling off Bucky as they both scoot up the bed to the pillows. They settle next to each other. Steve looks over Bucky’s body. He’s still so enamored with it even after all these years. He hopes Bucky feels the same about his body. They let their hands wander a bit, soft caresses that explore each other like youths figuring out bodies can do so much more than run and play. 

Steve gets too close to Bucky’s cock, and Bucky jerks back. He pulls his hand away, watching Bucky for distress. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Bucky answers. 

Steve licks at his lips, the taste of mint is faint now. “What should we, uh, more kissing?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He pushes in and when his lips meet Steve’s, it’s like a little switch goes off in Steve’s brain. He feels safe again and that his life isn’t one big joke. He feels like he didn’t mess up a lifetime of earning trust and the hearts of the American people. He suddenly feels like he’s actually worth something and not the stupid  _ idea _ of what he used to be. He’s a dancing monkey again sometimes. He’ll never be Captain America again, but at least the government didn’t put in him a prison. That has to count for something. 

Their kisses get more urgent and sloppy. Steve feels Bucky push a leg between Steve’s as their bodies slip together. Steve starts rocking, letting his cock shift up and down against Bucky’s. Bucky’s still flaccid. Steve’s almost completely hard. 

“Just let me suck it,” Steve whispers against Bucky’s lips. “Please, I wanna make you feel good.” 

Bucky tenses. He takes in an uneven breath, looking down at himself. “Okay.” 

Steve gets between Bucky’s legs, trailing his fingers up and down the hairs on Bucky’s thigh. He watches the skin shiver under his touch and it’s enough to encourage him that Bucky really  _ is _ trying. There’s just something there holding him back. Steve dips his head and takes Bucky’s tip into his mouth. He sucks gently, looking up at Bucky’s eyes for any hint that this is either too much or not enough. 

Bucky’s eyes are blank as he watches Steve.

Steve looks back down, slipping his tongue around the tip, trying to tickle the underside like he used to. That used to always get Bucky going. He brings his lips closed over Bucky’s cock, kissing it a few times before looking back up. “This good?”

Bucky nods. He spreads his legs more and Steve scoots closer. 

Steve sucks more of Bucky into his mouth, using his tongue to balance and guide the soft cock in and out. He’s careful of his teeth, even more so than usual. A flaccid cock is easier to knock around and hurt. He sucks softly, letting little sucking sounds echo into the room. He hopes they get Bucky going. Bucky used to love the sounds of Steve sucking him off. Bucky used to love a lot of things he doesn’t seem to anymore… 

Steve grows impatient. He’s licking, sucking and bobbing as much as he can on a flaccid cock, but it’s  _ still _ flaccid. He pulls up, kneeling in front of Bucky. “Am I doing somethin’ wrong?”

“No.”

“Then,” Steve huffs, “why aren’t you hard yet?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess I’m not in the mood.” He pulls his legs up, closing off Steve’s access to that soft cock. “I just wanna go to bed.”

Steve can’t hold it in anymore. He feels like someone’s taken his body and started forcing it up against a cheese grater and mashed onions into his eyes. He whines, pushing his palms against his face. “Why don’t you care about me anymore?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He never  _ fucking _ answers. 

“Get out,” Steve says. When Bucky doesn’t move, he glares at him, shouting, “I SAID GET OUT!”

Bucky blinks once more before swinging from the bed. He goes over to his dresser and grabs a pair of sweats before slipping them on and leaving the room silently. 

Steve collapses on the bed. Tears blur his vision so badly that he can’t figure out if he’s upside down or right side up. He’s squeezing a pillow so hard he hears the stitching pop. 

What did he do to make Bucky like this? 

* * *

Billy’s at the breakfast table in the morning when Steve comes down. Bucky’s already at the stove, idly stirring some scrambled eggs. He’s staring outside like something’s there, but it’s just an empty yard. They used to have a dog but he got hit by a car. The kids were young and Bucky was afraid of getting another in case something bad happened to that one too. Steve wishes they had a dog. It would’ve been nice to cry into something alive last night. He’d broken three pillows screaming into them. Then again, maybe if they had another one Steve would’ve just killed it last night by accidentally squeezing too tight… 

“Breakfast’s almost ready,” Bucky mumbles as he shakes out some salt into the eggs. 

“Mornin’.” Steve goes over to the coffee pot and fixes himself a cup. 

Tommy zooms into the kitchen, snagging the mug from Steve’s hand and sitting down to begin sipping on it. He’s even managed to put cream and sugar in. 

“Tom–” Steve begins, but Tommy points to another mug that’s black with two scoops of sugar– just the way Steve likes it. Steve smiles. “Thanks Tommy.”

“No problem Daddio.” Tommy leans over Billy to stare at his phone. “Who you textin’?”

“Nunya.”

Steve smirks, he knows where that’s going. 

“Nunya business, oh whatever, we’re not five!” Tommy folds himself over Billy, they both laugh as Billy struggles to keep his phone out of Tommy’s view. 

“Hey, come on, settle down.” Bucky turns with the pan and starts flopping out eggs on everyone’s plates. He can’t scoop it out with a utensil because of his one-armed status. Steve used to help, but Bucky doesn’t seem to want that anymore.

“What? We actin’ too family-like for you?” Tommy stares up at Bucky with defiant eyes. Steve sighs because he knows Tommy’s only masking his hurt with anger. Steve used to do the same thing when he was young. He still somewhat does, if last night is any reflection. 

Bucky just plops out the eggs and turns to grab some toast. 

“Tommy, stop being rude to your father,” Steve says, because no matter what, he’ll always protect Bucky.

“Whatever.” Tommy pokes at the eggs before sighing. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

“Tommy, please–” But Tommy’s gone before Steve even finishes the sentence. The chair wobbles from where he’d been, and other than that, Steve has no idea where his son has gone to. 

“He went to school,” Billy says. “I read his mind.” 

Steve smiles sadly, looking over at Bucky. He’s clutching the sink and his forearm is trembling. Steve feels guilty for last night. He’d gotten all dolled up and when Bucky needed him the most, he’d shoved him away because of his own personal frustration. Steve should’ve been more understanding. No wonder Bucky feels like he’s stuck and can’t reach out to anyone. No one’s offering a shoulder for him. 

“Billy had a date last night,” Steve says, still watching Bucky. Bucky just drops his head, his hair blocking his face. “With uh– Teddy, right?” He looks to Billy who nods. “Was it good?”

Billy smiles, looking over at Bucky and then back to Steve. “Yeah. We went bowling and got burgers and fries. Then we went to that sundae shop near the school.” 

“You like him?” Bucky asks. It surprises both Billy and Steve. Their eyes shoot open as they look at each other in disbelief. “You– you had fun?”

“Yeah Daddy,” Billy says. Steve’s heart almost melts from the affectionate term. It’s been a long time since he’s heard his kids call Bucky that. They went through a few stages of trying to figure out “names” for Steve and Bucky. Dad and Daddy. Pa and Dad. Eventually the kids just settled on whatever they wanted. Now it’s Dad and Bucky. Steve hates that. “I really like ‘im.” 

Bucky turns around, his eyes red. He looks like he’s been punched in the face a few times, but Steve’s damn sure Bucky hasn’t left the house for at least a month. Bucky’s got a permanent tracking device around his ankle– courtesy of the US government. They always call if they haven’t been informed of the situation. Steve used to give them a monthly calendar when Bucky would go out to Tommy’s baseball games or Billy’s dance recitals– even grocery days. Now that calendar is composed of nothing and Steve hasn’t sent it out in a long time. 

“That’s,” Bucky begins, his voice is hoarse and he sounds like he’s choking down something, “that’s real good, Billy. I’m glad.”

Billy nods, his gaze flicking from Steve to Bucky and then back to Steve. He furrows his brow before looking down at his plate. “Can I– can I have some lunch money?”

“Yeah,” Steve says as he stands up and goes into the living room for his wallet. He pulls out a few bills. When he comes back, Billy’s standing and holding Bucky tightly. Bucky’s crying into his son’s shoulder. Steve doesn’t say anything. He watches the way Bucky holds onto Billy– like he’s seeing his son for the first time in so many years. Perhaps he is. Steve’s not so sure. Billy is sniffling too, but his face is obstructed from being buried in Bucky’s neck. 

Steve sets the money down on the kitchen table and walks away. He feels a bit lighter. At least Billy’s willing to try to work things out with Bucky. At least that’s one kid. 

* * *

A week goes by and Steve’s not even sure any of the progress they made the day Billy hugged Bucky even mattered. Bucky stopped coming up to bed with Steve, even with Steve’s urgings. They haven’t tried to have sex again and the closest thing Steve got to a kiss was when Bucky just dropped his forehead against Steve’s shoulder as he walked by. 

Steve’s been taking his medication regularly now. He pops one three times a day like the bottle tells him to. He’s breathing better when things get rough, which makes him want to keep taking the pills. He’s so terrified he’ll fall into a panic attack if he runs out or his body starts getting used to them. He’s at the therapist’s office now, staring at his phone and wondering if he should send out a text to Sam or Nat. He misses them. He knows they miss him. Sam’s been on the news a lot lately. He’s been doing really well as Captain America. Steve’s proud of him.

Swallowing down his fear, Steve sends off a little  _ miss you _ text to Sam and then closes his phone. He looks around the room at the pamphlets. Depression. Anxiety. Are you and your partner happy? He picks that one up and starts reading it. 

Apparently, depression is common in long-term marriages. His therapist offers marriage counseling. Steve’s half-tempted to bring this up to Bucky, but he’s not sure if it’ll start a fight or not. 

“Mr. Rogers-Barnes?”

Steve looks up and smiles at the receptionist as she tells him his therapist is ready for him. 

Steve asks if marriage counseling is a good idea. He cries a lot during the visit. 

His counselor tells him it sounds like the best idea. 

* * *

It’s raining again when Steve gets home. He spends about fifteen minutes sitting in the car and wondering how he’ll bring marriage counseling up to Bucky. He considers leaving the pamphlet somewhere, but that’s not a sure-fire way Bucky will look. He also thinks about trying to make it look like it was Bucky’s idea– but that’s manipulative. 

Steve gets out of the SUV and makes his way through the rain. He’s soaked by the time he gets into the house. He shrugs off his jacket and shoes before going upstairs to change.

Bucky’s in the bed, which surprises Steve, considering he’s never in the bed anymore. He’s curled up and staring out the window at the cloudy day. 

“Buck.” Steve blinks a few times. He’s happy to see Bucky here, but he’s not happy to see him look so–  _ sad _ . “Were you napping? I could join you?”

Bucky takes a long time to answer. So long that Steve starts to change into drier clothes. “I love you, Steve.”  

Steve freezes, staring at that heap of blankets and pillows where his husband is. He doesn’t feel happy at hearing those words. It sounds more like Bucky’s letting go than trying to keep moving forward. 

“I saw my therapist today,” Steve says. He watches for any movement but Bucky just continues staring outside. “Do you think– do you think you have depression?”

Bucky laughs. “No. I know what I’ve got, Steve.” 

“Oh.” Steve bites his lip. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Bucky turns and looks at Steve. He looks like he tries to begin the sentence a few times before finally giving up and just shaking his head. 

“Please Buck, talk to me.” Steve gets on the bed and crawls over. He grabs Bucky’s hand, kissing it. “I wanna make this work.”

“What work?”

Steve stares in disbelief. He doesn’t want to say the words. Saying it out loud makes it real. If he says this relationship is dying, then it is, and he can’t stomach that right now. Bucky used to be  _ such _ a good husband. “What did I do wrong, Bucky?”

Bucky’s nose twitches. 

“Please, baby, just talk to me.” 

Bucky turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling fan. He’s quiet for a long time. They both listen to the rain that falls to the roof. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Steve.” 

“I obviously did something. Are you pissed at me? I’m sorry, I’ll stop whatever it is–”

“It’s not that simple Steve!” Bucky’s voice is singed with a bit of anger and Steve coils around himself to lessen the blow. He sighs heavily. “Look, it ain’t you, okay? I mean– it’s not just you.”

“But it is me.”

Bucky bites his lip. “It’s a lot of things, Steve. Just– I’ve just got a lot in my head right now.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” Steve tries to grab Bucky’s hand but Bucky pulls away, sitting up. 

“I don’t  _ need _ your help! I’m not fragile, okay!”

“I know that!” 

“Then  _ stop it! _ ” Bucky’s voice is treading into outright anger. He’s breathing deep and his shoulders are rising and falling. Steve suddenly remembers how  _ big _ Bucky is. “Stop trying to save me, Rogers.” 

“I’m– that’s not–”

“Fuck off.” 

Steve’s never run from Bucky Barnes so fast. He finds himself slamming the bathroom door closed as he heaves and whines through his throat for air. He fumbles for his medication and shoves two pills back instead of one before crumbling to the floor. Tears are streaming from his face and he doesn’t try to muffle the sobs. He wants Bucky to hear. Bucky’s done a lot in his life, but he’s never outright upset Steve like that before. He’s never  _ intentionally _ done something to make Steve sad. 

That? What he just did? That was intentional. 

* * *

Steve doesn’t know how long he’d stayed in the bathroom, but it’s dark outside when he comes to. His head is pounding and he’s not really sure what made him pass out, but there it is. He’s blinking blearily up at two bodies in the doorway. One’s blond and one’s got black hair. He recognizes one as Billy. 

“Dad?”

“I can use the one downstairs,” the blond says. 

“No, hold on.” Billy walks into the bathroom. “Dad? You okay?”

Steve blinks a few more times. His throat feels like he’s choking on sawdust. He looks around and gets his bearings. “Oh… sorry.” He uses the wall to help himself stand. He sways just a tad and the blond guy reaches out to steady him. “W-who?”

“Oh, I’m Teddy. Teddy Altman.” He smiles politely and that’s when it all clicks. 

“Oh shit,” Steve says. “Oh, I didn’t– I’m sorry. I’m used to sleeping anywhere. War and all that.”

Teddy nods, but there’s a shadow of true understanding in those eyes that Steve wishes he hadn’t seen. “N-nice to meet you– Mr. Rogers.”

Steve winces. He’s not sure if it’s from the pain in his head or the name that he associates with his own deadbeat dad. “Please, just Steve, okay?” Steve scoots from the bathroom and grabs the banister to go downstairs. He finds Bucky at the dining room table. He’s typing something on the laptop, so Steve doesn’t want to interrupt. 

He wanders back upstairs into the bedroom. He can hear Teddy and Billy in Billy’s bedroom. They’re laughing and it’s the nicest sound Steve’s heard in a long time. He misses laughter. This house is so full of muffled sobs and sharp gasps that the walls are beginning to sink in with dejection. He finds his cell phone with a text from Sam.

_ Miss you too, Cap. Really do. _

Steve clutches his phone as tears push from his eyes. He needs his best friend. He types a quick reply to meet up before falling onto the bed. He won’t go to sleep, but he’ll just listen to the rain for a little while he waits for Sam to reply. 

The little chime indicates he’s gotten a text back, so Steve swipes the unlock and reads the text:

_ Tomorrow then. I can fly by :P (Get it, cause I’ve got my wings? Actually I’ll take a plane but yeah I’ll be there tomorrow.) _

Steve smiles. He wonders if he’d have been happier if he hadn’t distanced himself from everyone. Maybe if Sam had been there during Bucky’s descent, maybe it wouldn’t feel like someone’s been slowly eating Steve alive and they’ve just now reached his intestines. Waiting for death is too long to live like this. 

Especially when death may take over 300 years for Steve… 

* * *

Bedtime. Steve’s sitting at the kitchen island with none of the lights on. He can hear Bucky shuffling on the sofa in the living room. He wants to ask Bucky to join him. He can’t stand lying in that bed without Bucky again. It’s too cold. It’s too  _ soft _ . He needs Bucky’s chest to fall asleep on. He needs that sweaty feeling of their bodies heating up the room too much so they kick the covers away. 

So he stands up, trudging into the dark living room. “Bucky?”

“Mm?”

“Please come up with me.”

There’s a long pause. “I dunno, Steve.”

“Please? Please I’m beggin’ you.” Steve hears the tremble in his voice as tears heat up his eyes. 

“… Okay.” 

Steve watches in the dark as Bucky stands up and together they make their way up the steps. He follows Bucky into their dark bedroom before finding the switch so they can get ready for bed with a little light. 

“Bucky?” Steve reaches out to grab the man’s hand. 

Bucky just turns and waits. 

“You love me?”

Bucky swallows. 

“M-maybe we– I talked to my therapist and maybe we should do– um– marriage counseling?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. 

“I know, I know it sounds stupid and please don’t be angry with me but–”

“Why would you think I’d be angry with you?” Bucky says, brows furrowing.

“C-cause, marriage counseling?”

“You think I’d be  _ angry _ at you for suggesting something?” Bucky’s shoulders broaden as he stands up taller. His cheeks flush red and Steve takes a step back, licking his lips and folding his arms protectively over his chest. “Are you afraid of me, Steve?”

Steve doesn’t answer. He’s always been a shit liar.

_ Yes _ .

Bucky scoffs. He goes over to his dresser and starts pulling out clothes. 

“Hey, hey what’re you doing?” Steve watches from behind, his eyes wild as fear plummets into his heart so deeply that it feels as if gravity is trying to crush him down. “Bucky, Bucky stop– please.” 

Bucky ignores him. He goes about shoving his clothes into a backpack and then digs into the closet for a pair of shoes. 

“Bucky!”

“WHAT?!” He turns on Steve like a wild animal. Steve has flashbacks to the fight from when the Winter Soldier was live and active, the bridge in DC, a rooftop in Berlin. But when those eyes had looked at him it had been with blank animosity instead of the vivid rage here. He doesn’t want to compare the two. They’re not the same, but he does anyway. 

“What, Steve? Tell me why I shouldn’t leave?”

Steve starts trembling. He’s never felt so unsure with Bucky before. Bucky never scared him when they were younger. Bucky never scared him when he was the Winter Soldier. Bucky  _ never _ scared him– until now. It’s not the kind of fear where you think your lover will hit you– no. It’s different than that. It’s the kind of fear that makes you question your entire existence. Makes you fear your own choices and leaves you up at night over the toilet spewing your guts out because  _ you’ve tried so hard _ and your best is still someone else’s worst. 

“Don’t leave,” Steve whispers. “Please, please let’s just talk.”

“What’s there even to talk about, Steve?!” Bucky’s voice is loud. Steve winces because if the kids hear– well– Billy is already going to. He wishes he could shield his children from his own mistakes more. If only he’d been a better parent somehow. 

“I love you,” Steve says, taking a step forward.

“And that’s what?” Bucky steps back. “Is that supposed to make this work? Steve, look around you. This isn’t working! None of this is working!”

“Bucky, please.” Steve puts his hands out before him. “Keep your voice down.”

“For what? Our kids are enhanced, Steve! They already fuckin’ know!”

“BUCKY!” Steve shouts. “Stop it. We  _ have _ to–”

“Have to what? Act like a normal, miserable couple that’s lost their spark long ago yet they keep going because they feel obligated to?”

Steve’s heart begins to unravel. Something is shoving itself down his throat and he can’t speak– he can’t even think of anything but the words that are berating his skin like fire and gravel. 

“Yeah, that’s what this is now, Steve. Haven’t you realized?” Bucky shoves a pair of shoes into his backpack. “We’re only staying because we feel obligated. Don’t fuckin’ lie to me either. You don’t love me anymore and I don’t love you.”

An uncomfortable chill starts at the base of Steve’s skull and slowly works its way around his body. He feels the tears but can’t recognize if he’s actually crying or just tearing up. He can’t even see Bucky except as a wild smear of pastel color. 

“Yeah– that’s right, Steve. I don’t love you,” he sighs, “at least– not the way I used to.” 

“Oh.” Steve wants to die. His children, his life, his  _ serum _ . He isn’t thinking about any of it right now. He wants to carve his own heart out and mince it to pieces. 

“Oh c’mon, Steve,” Bucky steps forward, “you’ve known this was gonna happen for a long time now. Don’t act like this.”

“M’not acting,” Steve whispers. He can’t find the strength to speak any louder. He finally recognizes he is crying now. His lungs are squeezing in and if he doesn’t take those pills soon he feels he’s going to slip into a full-blown asthma attack. “I do love you.”

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s face, wiping away a tear. “Yeah, I know. You’ll always love me in some way and I’ll always love you. But– you’ve gotta admit, Steve. It’s not what it used to be. It’s not how it’s supposed to be.” 

Steve places a hand over Bucky’s to keep it there. If he lets go he’ll never get to touch Bucky again and his chest hurts so much that it’ll explode soon enough. Good, he thinks. Let it. He doesn’t want this anymore. 

“I–”

Steve doesn’t get to say anymore. Tommy and Billy are in the room. Tommy’s got Bucky pressed up against the wall and Billy’s standing protectively in front of Steve. He blinks the tears out of his eyes as he realizes what’s happening. Tommy’s got his hand wrapped around Bucky’s throat and Bucky’s prying with his single flesh hand to get him off. 

“T-Tommy!” Steve shouts.

“NO!” Tommy’s face is red, his voice unraveling and loud. “He hurt you! He’s gonna hurt you and I won’t let him!”

“Tommy! He wasn’t hurting me! We were talking!” 

“You were shouting,” Billy says. “I– I went into your mind, Dad. I felt your pain.” He shivers. Steve has never felt like such a failure before now. He stares open mouthed at Billy. He never wanted him to feel that. He  _ never _ wanted Billy to know what was truly happening. He didn’t want either of his children to. 

Bucky’s stopped fighting Tommy. He’s letting himself dangle and is gripping onto Tommy’s arm to keep from strangling himself against the wall. Tommy’s glaring with murderous intent but he finally backs away and lets Bucky slip the two inches down back to the flooring. 

“We found divorce papers,” Tommy says, not looking away from Bucky. “He’s been planning this for awhile now, Dad.”

A traitorous arrow pierces through Steve’s heart. He stumbles back and finds himself collapsing against the closet door. “Really, Buck? You…” Saying it makes it real. “You want a divorce?”

Bucky looks away appearing ashamed. “They’re on my computer.” 

“So that’s– that’s what you were doin’ when…” Steve feels sick. He clutches his stomach. Billy’s by him, offering out a supporting hand. He rubs his father’s back but Steve can’t even register the feeling. All his mind is focused on is that Bucky doesn’t want him anymore. “Bucky…” Steve collapses. 

Tommy and Billy are by him, both helping hands trying to sooth and ease a pain that they can never erase. They’ve brought him so much joy, it’s a shame that their love will never replace Bucky’s. Steve wishes it was possible. 

Bucky picks up the backpack and makes his way out of the room.

“Fuck you, Bucky,” Tommy says.

Bucky pauses. He looks over his shoulder, tears streaming from his eyes. Steve wants to stand but he can’t get his legs to work right. He keeps sloshing from side to side, leaning against one son or the other. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Bucky says in that hoarse tone. “I really am.” 

He closes the bedroom door like he’s closing a chapter on their lives together. Steve finally feels his last meal lurch in his stomach and he vomits right there on the floor. 

* * *

“I don’t know where he’s gone,” Steve says for the third time into the phone. The CIA called the second Bucky walked off the lawn. The SUV’s still outside, so he must’ve gone on foot or taken a bus. As if leaving Steve’s life didn’t hurt enough, he had to have known the CIA would be calling and asking Steve for answers he didn’t have. “We had a fight.” 

He looks over to Billy and Tommy at the breakfast table. They’re both sighing and looking at each other in the only way twins can. They can have entire conversations with only their eyes. 

“I know this is a risk.” Steve’s voice is clipped and he finds himself on the defense. “Look, it was just a stupid fight, okay! He’s not gonna bring down your government so just fucking relax!” 

Steve hangs up because he’s embarrassed at how easily he loses his cool. His children look up at him with eyes too young to feel such sadness and he bites his lip to keep from crying. He can’t cry in front of them anymore. He’d cried all night. They all gathered into Steve’s bed last night and held each other as he cried. It’s a painful moment when a father leaves. It’s even more painful when the children handle it better than the spouse. 

“You two should be at school.” 

“It’s Saturday,” Tommy says. 

“Oh.” Steve falls into a chair, staring at the tiled flooring. 

“Is there anything we can do, Dad?” Billy asks. He reaches over to grab Steve’s hand. 

“No.” Steve squeezes Billy’s hand. “Thank you though.” 

“Fuck him.” Tommy’s brow is pinched and his cheeks are flushing red. “He doesn’t deserve you anyway.” 

Steve can’t bring himself to smile or respond. Somewhere down the line, he’d pushed Bucky away. He’d  _ chosen _ Bucky in the most literal of senses. He’d picked him over the Avengers, over Tony, over the USA. Somewhere that choice became spoiled. He just can’t figure out where it all went wrong. They’d been happy. Even when they had nothing they’d been happy. 

Someone knocks on the door and Steve curses under his breath. He’d forgotten about Sam. 

Tommy zooms over to the door. “Uncle Sam!” It used to be funny, hearing that– the whole Captain America and USA trend… Now it just makes Steve wince. Sam was family and Steve had pushed him away too. He’s pushed everyone away. It’s a miracle his kids still want to hang around. 

“Sup Wheels!” Sam says by the front door. “Where’s our witch boy, huh?”

“I’m right here, Uncle Sam,” Billy says timidly as he walks from the kitchen over to the living room. 

“You two better stop growin’. You’re what? Five ten? Five eleven?”

“Five nine, but I wish,” Tommy replies. 

Steve thinks he should get up and stop listening. He shuffles over to the archway into the living room and leans against it, crossing his arms. 

Sam’s brow furrows. “What happened?”

“Bucky left me.” It’s a miracle he’d even found a way to get those words out. 

“Jesus,” Sam looks to the kids and then back up to Steve. He's in his fifties now, early fifties. Yet his face is smooth except for the forehead lines, and there's a little grey by his ears. He still fights as Captain America. He still fights for his friends. He's a better man than Steve. “You– no, what m’I askin’. You’re not okay. Jesus, c’mere.” 

Sam crosses the room to pull Steve into a hug. He’s warm and broad, and for a moment Steve wonders if he’d missed something with Sam while he was chasing after Bucky. He’s never asked, and Sam’s never made a move, but Steve can’t help but wonder anyway. But the age on Sam's face makes it apparent that even he would leave Steve one day, by no fault of his own. Steve cringes, he doesn't like reminding himself of that.

“Lemme guess, the government’s been callin’ all mornin’ too?” Sam asks, still cradling Steve. 

“Yup,” Tommy answers so Steve doesn’t have to. Answering is exhausting and thankfully his kids understand that. 

Sam pulls back, but he leaves his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “You think it’s permanent?”

Steve shrugs. He doesn’t want to even begin thinking about that. 

“Okay.” Sam pulls Steve in for another hug, cupping his head. “I’ll stay for a few days.”

“Sam–”

“Dude, don’t you dare. I’m gonna take care of my best friend and you’re gonna sit down and shut up about it. Okay?”

Tommy and Billy both laugh. It makes Steve feel a bit better, so he laughs too. It’s nice to know that no matter how long time can pass between them, they’re still close as ever. 

* * *

“They know where Bucky is,” Sam says as he sits back down at the dinner table. He’d cooked up a hearty meal of steak and potatoes that Steve was just poking around instead of eating. “Do you wanna know?”

Steve hesitates. He feels his children staring at him and he knows what answers they’d rather hear. They want him strong. Tommy wants him over this. But he’s not strong– not when it comes to Bucky. He blanks out, finds himself crying or trembling. He learns he’d rather take medicine than bear the tightness in his chest. Sam’s also been making sure Steve takes his meds at the appropriate intervals so he doesn’t forget. Steve wouldn’t forget honestly– not anymore, not when shards of glass are tumbling in his chest like a washing machine on high. 

“…Yes.” He’s not sure if it’s possible to hate himself more, but he thinks he does. He’s a failure in his marriage and now most likely a failure in his children’s eyes. He even hears Tommy let out a bitter sigh. 

Sam tugs Steve’s hand over and writes down an address. “You can do with that what you will.” He tucks himself back into his meal and that’s the end of that conversation. He starts asking the kids about school or anyone they’re into. Naturally that leads to Tommy teasing Billy about Teddy. Steve idly thinks there’s suddenly too many people with ‘y’ at the end of their name.

Which then gets him thinking of Bucky and then his heart is falling into a blender again. 

After dinner, Steve is shooed out of the kitchen and Billy and Teddy take to cleaning. Sam’s on the sofa, tucking down the sheet into the cushions. 

“You sure you wanna stay?” Steve asks. 

“Yup.”

Steve leans against the stereo. “You don’t have to.”

“Steve. Shut up.” Sam’s smile is warm nevertheless. “I want to be here for you, okay? You’ve got your kids but you need someone too. It’s not fair to them to have to step up and take care of you too.”

Steve bites his lip. Sam had eventually gone on to marry Maria Hill. But they'd never had children. Sam's unwavering morals about family come from his upbringing. He too saw a marriage fall apart and did what he could to care for his mom. It's not fair, Steve thinks, Sam has spent a lifetime of looking out for other people. Who looks out for him? Even Steve had abandoned him when he and Bucky got the twins. It hadn't been intentional, but Steve did it. Steve is a selfish, horrible person. He doesn't deserve Sam or his kindness.

“Hey man, I didn’t mean you weren’t doin’ a good job. I just mean– I just mean they need you strong. They look up to you.”

“I’m not very strong, Sam.” Steve huffs out his nose bitterly. “Not anymore.” 

Sam nods like a man who really understands. Steve’s pretty sure he does. Wielding the mantle of Captain America gives a new perspective on life. Sam’s been introduced to that world, and Steve feels guilty for him and proud all the same. 

“We should do something. Get your mind off things. Wanna catch a movie?”

“Not really.”

“Go out to breakfast tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Get drunk and go to a strip club?” Sam smirks. 

“That’s– that’s a funny option. But no.”

“Man,” Sam clicks his tongue, “you’re no fun.”

“Nope. Night Sam.” Steve starts making his way over to the staircase, a little smile on his face. He’s grateful that Sam’s here. It doesn’t matter if they’ll sit in the house for the entire duration of Sam’s stay. Sam won’t actually complain and Steve’s immeasurably grateful about that. He stops on the stairs, remembering his previous thought. “Sam?”

Sam looks up at him.

“You didn't have to do this. I don't deserve it. But I'm glad you did. Thank you.”

San is quiet for a long pause. Then he smiles and nods. “If it really came down to it, Steve. I do know you'd do the same for me. Even if you don't believe it.”

Steve wants to believe it.

* * *

A week into Sam’s stay and Steve can’t do it anymore. He slips out the backdoor unannounced. It’s raining. The earth is sloshy and soft. There’s a mudslide into the road close to his mailbox. He can fix it once it stops raining. He knows Sam won’t go looking, though he’s damn sure his children will. But he needs to do this. 

He punches in the address to the hotel and makes his way out of the neighborhood of old New England houses. Their home is modest in size, but it’s a cute blue painted house with the white picket fence. It’s not nearly as Victorian as some of the other homes in the neighborhood but it’s perfect for Steve. It looks great with their American flag usually swinging in the breeze. Steve thinks he’ll redo the garden if Bucky comes back.

If Bucky comes back…

The words hit Steve so hard that he has to pull over and pop one of his pills before he starts back up again. He looks to the bottle and cringes when he sees he’s getting low. He wonders if the therapist will do an early refill or if he’ll be forced to go without the pills for a few days. When did he become so dependent on pills? How did he go through a month’s worth of supply in a matter of three weeks? 

He pulls onto the road and tries not to think again until he finds the little motel off the side of a state road. It’s rundown and nothing like what he thought at first, but at the same time, Steve really doesn’t expect anything less of Bucky. Bucky’s never been one for flair. It’s why their house is so modest in comparison to the other ones in the neighborhood. It’s got one fireplace and Steve had to beg for the house because  _ Bucky, c’mon, Christmas with a fireplace?! _

He parks the SUV and manages to get out of it without any frantic thoughts. His mind is oddly calm. He’s transfixed on the way things used to be. Part of him wonders if he thinks hard enough, if he can find where it all went wrong. The other half of him thinks that’s a lost cause. This is deeper than one event. Steve was just too blind to realize it. 

He knocks on Bucky’s door and is actually surprised to find Bucky on the other side. He’s got a beard like he had back in Romania and looks more like a wolf than a human, but Steve can see the shocked eyes enough to know it’s Bucky. 

“Hey,” Steve says.

“Hey,” Bucky says back. 

There’s an awkward beat before Bucky backs up and motions for Steve to come into the little room. There’s one bed and it reeks of stale cigarette smoke. The air is clammy and thick too. Steve hovers by the old TV. It’s got an antenna on top and everything. And he thought  _ he _ was ancient. 

“Uh, I– I don’t really have anything planned to say. I just, um, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Bucky sits on the bed and cracks open a beer. Steve looks to the bedside and sees about twelve empty bottles. 

“Are you trying to get drunk?”

Bucky shrugs. “Can’t anyway, so there’s really no harm in it. It’s just therapeutic to drink. Want one?”

Steve nods. It’d be nice to keep something in his hands while they go through this. He watches Bucky move over to the little fridge. Bucky’s not yelling. He’s not even acting like anything is out of the ordinary. He seems relaxed and that frightens Steve. Steve doesn’t want him relaxed. If he’s relaxed, it’s like he’s made the right choice. This isn’t the right choice. They’re better together than apart. 

Bucky hands him the beer. “Here ya go.” 

“Thanks.” Steve cracks it open as he watches Bucky plop back onto the bed’s edge. He takes a long pull from his beer. Steve does the same. 

“You miss it?” Bucky asks.

“Miss what?”

“Bein’ drunk.” Bucky blinks slowly before looking up at Steve. “Made us feel damn good back in the day.”

“Yeah– yeah it did.” Steve doesn’t want this conversation. He wants the one he can’t bring himself to have right now. 

“You usta get so horny.” Bucky laughs, licking his lips. “God, I was flirtin’ with some dame and you were tryin’ to put your hand down my pants. I was mortified!”

Steve smiles because what else is he supposed to do right now. 

“We could’ve been arrested.” Bucky takes another pull of his drink. Steve watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each gulp. “But I loved every second of it.”

“Yeah…” Steve stares at his bottle now. If he looks at Bucky’s face he’ll cry and he can’t do that right now. He’s got to be strong for himself and for his kids. 

“You here to try to bring me back?” 

“If you really wanted to leave, you wouldn’t’ve stayed in the state. I know you.” 

Bucky shrugs before finishing off his beer. He burps unceremoniously. Steve grits his teeth at how unaffected Bucky’s pretending to be. Steve knows better. He saw the way Bucky was crying as he left the house. Bucky gets off the bed to grab another beer, except Steve reaches out and grabs the man’s wrist. 

They stare at each other, both breathing hard– and not from the alcohol. It’s like water to them anyway. They stare because this reminds them of something familiar. Sneaking around. Meeting up in strange places. It’s like the war all over again and Steve’s hornier than he’s been in a long time. He looks down at sees Bucky’s dick pressed against his pants and knows he is too. 

“Why’d you really leave?” Steve asks. 

“I already told you,” Bucky replies. He turns to Steve, pressing his body up against him. “Our marriage is failing.” 

“It doesn’t have to.” Steve lets Bucky pick him up and drop him on the dresser. He wraps his legs around Bucky. He wants this. He wants this quick, dirty, and entirely unprepared. He wants Bucky to ram into him dry and for all he’s fucking worth. If they can’t make love, if there’s no love left between them, Steve will settle for mind-blowing rough sex. As long as it’s Bucky, he’ll settle for anything. 

“They hate me,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s ear. He sucks the lobe into his mouth, grinding his cock against Steve. 

“Ah…th-they don’t,” Steve gasps, “they just miss their daddy.”

“Do  _ you _ miss your daddy?” Bucky growls low, licking at Steve’s neck.

“Oh God… yes…” Steve arches his neck, letting Bucky mouth up the jugular and bite down below his ear. 

“Yes what, baby?” Bucky asks, leaning down to suck noisily at Steve’s Adam’s apple. 

“I miss my daddy.” Steve plays right along into it. Bucky could ask him to call him anything in the world and Steve would do it. Bucky’s here right now. He’s kissing and he’s hard and Steve wants this. He wants the urgency and the butterflies that are wracking against his sternum. He wants the scrambling fingers that’re going up his shirt to play at his nipples, and oh  _ fuck _ he wants this. 

“Daddy,” Steve pants, “daddy…daddy…” 

“You like that?” Bucky asks, swirling his fingers around Steve’s nipple. “You like bein’ filthy? You’ve always been a little slut for me, huh?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes out. He drops his head back and it smacks the wall. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“Shhh.” Bucky pulls his hand out and presses his index finger to Steve’s mouth. “M’gonna fuck you so good, baby boy.”

Steve nods, his voice lost to the euphoria he’s hazed in. 

Bucky uses his hand to undo Steve’s jeans. He tugs Steve’s cock out and starts stroking, spitting down on it for lube. 

Steve whines, rocking up into the feeling as Bucky plays with him. He grabs desperately at Bucky’s shoulders, clawing and digging his fingers in as rough as he can. 

Bucky hisses, but he doesn’t stop pumping over Steve’s cock. He flicks his wrist, bringing his fingers over the tip before wringing down the shaft again. 

“Bucky!” Steve tosses his head back against the wall again. He hopes whoever is in the next room  _ knows  _ what they're doing. “Yes…yes Buck…please…”

“Please what? Use your words, baby.” Bucky leans forward to bite at Steve’s neck. He sucks in hard and it’s enough to make Steve want to come right then and there. 

“I wanna come,” Steve says, “I wanna come so bad.” 

Bucky continues to pump at his cock, faster and faster until Steve’s whining and bucking up into his fist. 

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna!”

Bucky pulls away instantly, stifling the feeling so abruptly that leaves Steve’s cock lurching as madness takes over his mind. “No,” Bucky says, tugging Steve off the dresser, “not yet.”

Steve’s pushed to the bed, his pants yanked off. He feels Bucky’s weight behind him and he does his best to spread his legs. Bucky’s pushing down on Steve’s lower back. Steve’s cock is shoved up against the bedding but he can’t move to get any friction. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” Bucky says. Steve hears him spit and then feels two fingers swirl around his hole.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ yes.” Steve rocks himself into the bed now that Bucky’s hand is at his ass instead. 

“Don’t be greedy,” Bucky says in a sickeningly sweet voice. “You come before me and I won’t do this again with you.” 

The threat is more real than Steve wants it to be. He stops moving instantly. He writhes and flutters his hole as it’s teased by Bucky’s fingers. Bucky doesn’t dip in, just circles around it and gets Steve’s cock pulsing hard enough to come untouched. Steve doesn’t know if it’s how rough they’re being, the motel, or the fact that Steve’s got Bucky in some form of the word that makes this much more intoxicating. 

“Gonna fuck you now, okay? You always liked it when it hurt.”

Steve nods into the mattress. He wiggles his ass as a silent affirmation and waits impatiently. He moans long and loud when he feels Bucky’s hard cock rub up and down his crack. He’s not shaved, he’s not prepped, and they’re going in dry– it’s the best damn sex Steve thinks he’s going to ever have. 

Bucky teases at Steve’s hole, pushing his cockhead against the rim and then moving back away when Steve tries to push back. He does it a few times, flirting with Steve’s hole and caressing his cock against the muscle.

“Bucky,” Steve whines, “please fuck me. Please, please, please.” 

“You’re such a little slut, you know that, Stevie?” Bucky circles his tip against the rim again. “Such a pretty little slut.”

“Yeah,” Steve moans, “your slut.”

Bucky hums approvingly and the vibrations work all the way down into his cock. Steve whimpers, pushing back on that dick as much as he can. He’s going mad. Bucky’s body is hot and above his, powerful and commanding. He’s trembling and at the mercy of this man and he just  _ needs _ the pain that comes from this. He needs them united again or he’ll tear himself to shreds. 

Bucky pushes in and it hurts just as bad as Steve wanted. It sends jolts of pain up his spine and pulses against the back of his eyes. He drops his face into the bed, screaming as Bucky keeps pushing forward against the strain. 

Steve reaches back, holding onto Bucky’s hip so he can encourage Bucky to keep going. He doesn’t want this half-assed. If Bucky’s going to pound into him dry, Steve wants all the blood and pain that goes along with it. 

“God– fuck!” Bucky drops over Steve, bottoming out and panting heavily into Steve’s ear. “God, baby, you’re so tight.”

Steve’s panting too, his heart racing and his veins widening as blood rushes through his body. White pain sears through him and it’s enough to make him tear up but it’s  _ good, _ and he needs it like this. It’s been so long and he fucking needs it.

“You good, baby?” Bucky kisses between Steve’s shoulder blades. 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs out, “feels perfect.” Tears slip from Steve's eyes. The pain rises in him, his body swelling and doing all it can to make this stop. He doesn't want it to stop.

Bucky laughs but he starts pumping back and forth, bringing his cock to the edge before slamming back in again.

Steve’s loud when he moans, rocking back into Bucky, his body now works to expand around that thick cock. He’s trembling violently, but he keeps his hand back on Bucky’s hips, clawing his fingernails in. Steve feels himself tear, and if he was a ninety-pound asthmatic again, he’d be concerned. He’s not though, and the blood that soon follows works as a natural lubricant and Bucky starts pounding into him faster. 

“Oh God,” Steve whines, “yes baby, yes, yes, yes, God, fuck me!” 

Bucky moves faster, his balls slapping against Steve, his body pushing the bed forward and backward. Steve can’t breathe right as he’s pushed so forcefully into the mattress. He has to inhale each time Bucky pulls back and let it out when Bucky slams into him. Steve wouldn’t have it any other way right now. 

He whimpers when he feels Bucky slip out but Bucky’s pulling him roughly onto his back and Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s middle as he feels that delicious cock slip back inside him again. He moans out, clawing down Bucky’s back again. 

Bucky growls, biting down on Steve’s shoulder as he continues to thrust into Steve like a damn jackhammer. Their bodies are clammy with sweat, but the extra slipperiness works in Bucky’s favor and he slips in and out of Steve easily, hitting Steve’s prostate over and over again. 

Steve’s a babbling mess of vowels and growls as he reaches forward and bites into Bucky’s throat. He screams into the bite, tasting blood but keeping his teeth clamped down. 

Bucky’s relentless thrusts don’t let up. He’s gasping loudly, growling and whispering filthy things into Steve’s ear.  _ You’re such a dirty cockslut for me, huh baby? Like being filled up good by my cock, huh? God, you’re so hungry for it baby. Gonna pump you so full of my come you won’t eat for a fuckin’ week. _

Steve’s a crying mess. He grips onto the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling hair that slices into his skin. “Come in me, come in me, come in me!”

Bucky kisses Steve messily, tongues and lips tangling and smearing saliva all over each other’s chins and cheeks. He rams up into Steve, pressing down on that prostate so much that Steve’s actively trying to jerk away, squirming and whining beneath his lover. 

Steve won’t last like this, not with the abuse Bucky’s putting on him. He whines out a long staccato, broken by the smacks and slaps of Bucky’s thrusting. “Gonna come…Bucky– Bucky I’m gonna come!”

“S’okay, baby,” Bucky says, “me too. Oh  _ God _ , Stevie me too.” 

Steve fists Bucky’s hair, clenching his teeth as he feels his climax building up and threatening to end this. He doesn’t want it to end, but Bucky’s going so fast and his cock’s filling Steve up so good. “Ah…ah… Bucky! B-Bucky!” 

He hears Bucky groan out loudly, his body trembling as he comes. Steve’s own orgasm hits. Bucky’s warm come spurts into Steve and it’s enough to make him rise up on his climax again and scream from how painful it is. It’s too good. It’s too much. It’s not enough. He’s squeezing Bucky against him, holding his legs as tight as he can, rising bruises all around Bucky’s ribcage. His hands are up in Bucky’s hair. He can’t let go. If he lets go, it’s all over and he doesn’t know where he stands with Bucky. 

Bucky keeps rocking into him, it’s slower but he’s still moving. He’s kissing up and down Steve’s cheeks and jaws, whispering softly,  _ I love you, I love you, I love you _ . 

Steve feels tears fall from his eyes for a whole new reason. “I love you too.” 

Bucky rolls them over, Steve on top, cock still buried inside. He doesn’t stop kissing; he doesn’t stop thrusting. They kiss lazily, eyes closed. They both taste salty but that doesn’t stop them from kissing each other’s lips, chins, necks and noses. Bucky even nips at Steve’s nose playfully, smirking as Steve gasps in surprise. It’s so good, it’s too right and Steve can’t let this go. 

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice is a whine, but he can’t bring it down. His whole body is yearning for the man below him and he’ll give everything he’s got to keep him nestled inside him, safe and  _ together _ . “I need you.” 

Bucky noses along Steve’s throat, breathing heavily. “I know.” He rolls so they're on their sides now.

“Do you need me– though?” Steve doesn’t want to ask. This entire time there was some part of Steve that hoped Bucky was doing this for  _ him _ . Now, coming down from an orgasm that he wanted to last forever, he’s not so sure that Bucky wasn’t just doing this for himself. It wasn’t unreasonable. Steve is selfish to believe the contrary anyway. 

“Steve.” Bucky sighs, slowing his thrusts even more. He looks at Steve with a mix of pain and so much adoration that it physically hurts Steve. “I don’t know. Okay? I don’t– I don’t know.” 

“Do you like my body, at least?”

Bucky laughs, kissing Steve’s cheek. “Of course I do.” 

“But you won’t stay for just it.”

Bucky starts to pull back and Steve squeezes his limbs around him. 

“N-no, don’t leave me yet.” His voice is trembling so much he reaches up to his face to make sure he’s not crying. “Stay in me.” 

Bucky looks away, sighing through his nose before looking back and nodding. “Okay.” He shifts his body, tugging Steve up so they can rest their heads against the pillows.

They stay silent for a while. Steve traces the veins in Bucky’s arm and Bucky presses his forehead to Steve’s. They don’t look at each other, maybe occasional glances up. Bucky traces between Steve’s pecs idly. It’s like they’re searching for something to say but lost the language to speak it.

Eventually Bucky says, “I can’t go back.”

“I know.” That would’ve been too easy.

“But I’ll try the uh– the marriage counseling.”

Steve looks up, his face is too close to Bucky’s to really see him in focus but he thinks it’s the thought that counts anyway. “Really?” Hope settles in his heart. It soothes at the glass that’s always floating around behind his sternum and makes his fingers stop trembling.

“Yeah. But I can’t promise anything.”

“I know.”

“I just–” Bucky reaches up and cups Steve’s face, he thumbs over the cheekbone, staring. “I think I love you, but it’s hard to explain. It’s all messed up. I’m just  _ tired _ , I guess.”

“Of what?” Steve sounds more defensive than he’d like, but he doesn’t apologize. Bucky should know him better by now.

“I dunno, Steve. Family-man persona? The damn ankle tracker. We were so eager to pretend nothing bad ever happened to us that we ended up selling our freedom for it. We’re not normal people, Steve. We shouldn’t be confined like this.”

“Buck–”

“How many calls from the government did you get over me?”

Steve blinks. “…Three…”

Bucky does a small nod, satisfied with the answer. “I don’t think this life was for me. Not for what I became.”

Steve wants to argue. Bucky’s wrong. He deserves a family. He deserves a  _ life _ and a husband that loves him. He deserves the best sex they could ever have  _ every _ night and he deserves to finally be  _ human _ . Instead, Steve swallows loudly, clenching his ass around Bucky and earning a little gasp from him. Steve smirks, knowing full-well what he did.

“Traitor.” Bucky kisses him softly.

“Can we go again? I wanna go again.” If this is the only way he can have Bucky right now, he doesn’t want it to end. Maybe Sam will keep the kids from following once they get home… Maybe they’ll have to find their fathers making love. Either way, Steve doesn’t care right now. He has Bucky.

Bucky rolls atop him, growling. “Bet your sweet ass we can.”


	2. Finding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the amazing [Nurse Darry](http://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) for being an awesome beta reader!! THANK YOU!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr for more fics and art [buckmebxrnes](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And thanks for reading everyone!

 

There’s a clock in the room. Steve watches the tiny sliver of the second hand rise and fall around the numbers. He watches it like it’s a game he’s playing. Like there’s a meaning to the mundane movement. That thin red little hand. Over and over.

Classical music plays softly. It’s a constant reminder that Steve isn’t somewhere he’s familiar with. It’s a stuffy room with too many bodies and one that’s intent on knowing every little detail of Steve’s life with Bucky. A body they’re paying. A body who sits as still as ice. Steve can even feel the chill wavering from her immovable person.

He doesn’t look away from the clock so much as just knows how Bucky’s sitting. Bucky’s at the far end of the couch. He’s folded in on himself. Arms crossed. Legs crossed. He doesn’t want to be here. He’s here for Steve, and that puts a rock deep in Steve’s throat. He’s not sure he could speak even if he wanted to.

He keeps watching the second hand rise and fall inside the clock. Around and around.

“With first-time clients, we usually like to ask the simple questions to start with. Like how’d you meet. How long you’ve been married. Are you willing to talk about that first?” the therapist asks. Her name is Sharon and that makes Steve uncomfortable. He’d preferred calling her Dr. Christie, but she insisted. _It’s Sharon, please_. She has no idea what that name means to Steve. The confusion and conflict it brings up. The guilt. The embarrassment. _Peggy_.

“Fine,” Bucky says.

“So, how’d you meet?” she asks.

“We were kids,” Bucky answers. He’s a robot about it. Everyone knows how they met. After a while, Bucky had become so accustomed to people knowing more about his life than he did. He spouts facts out in the same sentences from museums and textbooks. He gives Sharon nothing because she knows exactly who they are. Steve can see it in the way Bucky looks at her that he finds this a waste of time. She already knows their backstory. So Bucky doesn’t spout the museum’s words because he’s too smart.

That’s something the museums leave out. Bucky _is_ smart. A lover of science and innovation. A dreamer. An artist without a pen but with imagination and wonder. Or at least, that’s who he used to be. They both were different people before Bucky fell from a train. Before he woke up in Hydra’s control. Before Steve foolishly injected himself with the serum. They had killed who they used to be.

Steve still doesn’t know who to blame. He just assumes it’s his own fault.

“How old?” Sharon asks. She has red hair. It’s short and curls in at her chin. She’s got features like an elf. Tiny nose. Big green eyes. Steve wonders if her ancestry is like his. He finds that stereotyping and pushes the thought away. He looks at the clock again.

“Did you even look at our names?” Bucky asks.

“Buck,” Steve says. He would’ve reached out and touched Bucky’s knee except Bucky’s so far away. Steve visits Bucky at that gross motel almost nightly. He’s there more than he is with his own children (a whole other issue), and yet they can’t be touching unless they’re fucking. Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. He hopes the therapist will.

“Seven. Saw him gettin’ picked on at school and I stepped in.” Bucky uncrosses his legs and spreads out. Steve’s gaze tears from the clock to Bucky’s crotch. He licks his lips in a shameful way. Their therapist is right there and Steve can already feel himself getting hard. He’s so stupidly attracted to Bucky. His body vibrates for him, it stings and pulls and cries for him. He resists the urge to scoot closer.

“Are you older?” Sharon asks Bucky.

Bucky nods.

“How long have you two been together?” Sharon asks Steve. He knows this because she turns those wildly green eyes to him. Her lips are plush and show off just a hint of her two front teeth. Steve decides she’s beautiful. He also decides he shouldn’t be so transfixed on her when the man he’d swallow razors blades for is sitting next to him. He wonders if she can explain all that to him too.

“Like as a couple?” Steve asks because he’s not really sure what she’s searching for. He can only assume.

“Yes.”

“It’s—hard to explain.”

“We peg it around roughly forty years,” Bucky says, saving Steve like he always does. “We fooled around when we were growin’ up. A lot of it was like—experimentation? Pretending it was so we could impress girls. Then after Steve’s mother died, we kinda got serious. We hid it. It was illegal, ya know? So we went out on dates to hide it.”

“You went on dates,” Steve corrected. “I watched you flirt with ‘em all and sat in a corner.”

“Oh c’mon. You know it didn’t mean shit!”

“I know! Just—still.” Steve notices the therapist jot down a note. This is how she figures out how to work with them. The questions are simple enough so they let their guards down. Then that’s where she strikes. She’s clever and reminds Steve a bit of Nat. He misses her. She also has wildly green eyes.

“It hurt me,” Steve finishes.

Bucky clenches his jaw and looks away. Steve crosses his arms to try to cradle the pain into his chest.

“And during World War II?” Sharon knows the whole story, she’s just forcing them to relive it. Steve doesn’t’ know if that’s cruel or pure brilliance. Either way, her plan is working. Now both Steve and Bucky are sufficiently uncomfortable.

“It took me awhile to get used to his body,” Bucky says. Steve’s surprised at how talkative Bucky’s being. The first thing anyone comments about Bucky is how silent he is. Here he’s almost a genuine chatterbox. “At first I was jealous. I’d gotten—used to all the attention. Now I was the invisible one.”

“Did you notice that?” Sharon asks Steve. “That he was jealous?”

Steve frowns because no. He hadn’t.

Sharon jots down another note and Steve closes his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” Steve whispers.

“I know.” Bucky scoots closer on the couch. He doesn’t touch Steve, but they sit closer now. It’s a silent conversation that Steve feels blessed to understand. It’s Bucky’s way of saying he’s not upset. That _that_ isn’t the root of their problem.

“And how was your relationship when you found Bucky again, Steve?” Sharon asks.

Both men laugh. They laugh because their lives aren’t the pretty romance novels that teenagers gush about. They aren’t the neat and tidy love story for the ages. They’re forged in blood and iron. They’re twisted in root and brine. They’re desperate and frantic and unconventional and everything pointed to them _not_ being together and yet they defied it all. They even defied death.

Sharon waits and Steve looks to Bucky, wondering who should explain the next part. Bucky shrugs, so Steve takes lead.

“It was rocky. Mostly because the world thought Bucky blew up the UN in Vienna and killed King T’Chaka. Then his son came after Bucky. Then Tony came after Bucky. So it was a long day.”

Bucky smirks.

“And after?” Sharon asks. Steve still hates that her name is Sharon.

“He was in cryo for about a year. T’Challa’s sister Shuri helped reprogram his head and things kind of—got better. We got married. We went through all the legal channels of getting pardoned after a full review. We fought and defeated Thanos. We adopted two kids.”

“And who are they?”

“Tommy and Billy,” Bucky says. “They’re both mutants—or whatever the fancy word is these days. They go to Professor Xavier’s School for the Gifted.”

“Having mutant children must add pressure on you both.”

Steve shrugs. “We’re enhanced too.” But that doesn’t answer the question and Sharon jots down another note. She notices the way Steve doesn’t say or does say things. She’s good, Steve decides. He trusts her more. After decades of not trusting people, it’s nice to let it bloom in his heart. It makes his body lighter.

“How is your relationship with your children?” Sharon asks.

Steve shrinks back. He doesn’t want to say anything because this is where things go wrong. This is where he gets to say his children love him but hate Bucky. Where he gets to be the proud father of two boys who look up to him but Bucky fades into black. This is not what he wants to say. So he lets Bucky speak instead.

“Strained,” Bucky says. “They love Steve more than me.”

It hurts so bad that Steve whines. All parties in the room hear it. After brief moments of looking at Steve’s red-flushed cheeks, Sharon turns her green eyes back to Bucky.

“And why is that?” she asks.

“Because I’m the reason Steve’s in pain. It’d be easier if I just—left.”

“No.” Steve says the word so simply he’s astonished he said it at all. He turns to Bucky, head shaking. “That’d be the worst thing.”

“For you. But Steve—I’m not what they need.”

“You’re _exactly_ what they need.”

“No!” Bucky shouts. He scrubs his hand over his face and sighs. His shoulders shake and he coils in on himself. “I’m not a good influence and I’m not something positive in their lives.”

“Why not?” Sharon asks before Steve can say anything. He knows they’re paying her a lot of money to do this, so it’s probably best if he keeps quiet, no matter what he wants to say.

“Because I’m still a criminal to half the world. They never saw it when they were little, but I’m afraid they’ll see it now. The looks in the supermarket. The way people hold their kids just a tiny bit closer when we’re at soccer games. Tommy wasn’t allowed to play with a certain kid because I was one of his dads. It’s got fuck-all to do with Tommy having two dads and everything to do with I’m the fucking Winter Soldier, and people will always be terrified of that. I’m an assassin that walked free.” He looks at Steve now. “I tried so hard never to tell you.”

“Bucky.” Steve’s eyes tighten.

“I know you, Steve. I know that you’d get angry or you’d call that kid’s parents or you’d march right up to them and stick a finger in their face. I _know_ you, and I couldn’t do that to you. Or them. I pulled back because it was easier to make them hate me than make them ashamed of me. I don’t—” Bucky’s voice cracks, “—I can’t handle that. It’s easier for them to project their anger against me than the world.”

Steve hears glass shatter, except nothing in the room changes. Bucky’s shrinking in on himself harder. Sharon is jotting down notes. The clock on the wall still ticks. The hand counting seconds still spins on. Nothing is broken. Except Steve’s world. He’d thought it was his fault. He thought he’d done something wrong.

He reaches his hand out and grabs Bucky’s flesh hand. He squeezes and Bucky squeezes back.

“I understand,” is all Steve says.

Bucky doesn’t say anything back. He looks away and swallows roughly. His hand shakes in Steve’s. He doesn’t let go. Steve doesn’t either.

“Do you mind if we cut this short?” Steve asks. “I wanna talk to him alone.”

Sharon closes her notebook and nods. “Of course. I’ll see you in another week.”

* * *

They kiss outside. They make it three feet before their bodies are turning into each other. Planets colliding and exploding with the full force of the universe. The ground shakes beneath Steve’s feet but he clutches Bucky harder, their kisses more anxious. Steve tastes salt and knows Bucky is crying. Steve wishes he were better for Bucky. He wishes Bucky hadn’t been right about how Steve would’ve reacted to the notion of children not playing with their children because of Bucky. Maybe he’d noticed and never cared to believe it? He’d seen the looks. He’d just always accounted it to people being homophobic. Maybe that was the lie Steve told himself. He can’t see it any other way now than how Bucky described it. So it had been a lie Steve told himself.

They break the kiss, both flushed and hard in their pants. Steve doesn’t want to have sex. He doesn’t want to lose the emotional intimacy that’s swirling around them, pulling them together after having been ripped apart for so long. He can feel the wounds stitching together, sewing them back right up into each other.

“I love you,” Steve says. He cups Bucky’s face and presses a final kiss to Bucky’s swollen red lips. It’s soft, barely a feather of a kiss but a kiss nonetheless. Bucky’s breath is sharp and strained. He opens his eyes and they’re red.

All he does is nod.

“Come home tonight?” Steve ventures because he feels like this is the right thing to do. He feels this is how it’s supposed to be. They’ve gotten through bumps before. This was the biggest of them all. It was the natural order for Bucky to come home now.

“No, Steve,” Bucky says, shattering Steve’s heart. “I don’t think I can.”

* * *

Steve likes Teddy. He’s been hanging around the house more. Steve is sure it’s because Billy is hurting without his dad. Billy always had a connection to Bucky that he didn’t have with Steve. They’re both the type of people that are feared for what they are, not who they are. If anyone cared to know them, they’d find the good that radiates inside. The good that Steve sees so clearly. But people are cruel and judgment is only because fear dictates that they avoid Billy and Bucky to stay alive. It’s survival at its core, and Steve understands. He just hates it.

But Teddy sees the goodness inside Billy. He’s always close to Billy, a smile on his face, a hand on Billy’s hip. He’s protective in the way Steve was of Bucky when he’d found him after Vienna. He’s the goodness that people instinctively see. In a way, Steve sees himself in Teddy. It’s conceited to say he likes Teddy because of that, but Steve’s earned the right to be a little conceited after hating himself for so long.

“Hey Steve,” Teddy says, “is it okay if I spend the night again?”

Steve looks over at Billy and Tommy in the kitchen. They’re doing dishes like the good teens they can be. Tommy flicks some water at Billy and Billy stops it with a forcefield. Steve’s sure the room will be flooded soon if they start that game up. He knows this because it’s happened before.

“I mean, we don’t do anything. We just sleep. If—if that’s what you’re worried about. I just—Billy doesn’t like being alone.” Teddy’s face blushes just as easily as Steve’s.

“You can stay, Teddy,” Steve says finally. He ignores the other bit of information relayed. Talking about sex hasn’t come up with Billy yet. It’s come up with Tommy on multiple occasions, and Steve’s sure Tommy isn’t a virgin anymore. But as long as he’s safe and doesn’t knock a girl up, Steve trusts him. Lord knows Steve can’t judge them when he was fooling around with Bucky even younger than they are now.

Steve stands from the sofa and makes the climb up the stairs. He flicks on the hall light and stares down the hallway to the bedroom. He doesn’t want this. But he hasn’t been home and Sam can only take so much babysitting duty before the world needs Captain America again. He’s already in the guest room, sleeping off a mission that luckily only spanned the day. It’s only a matter of time until the world needs him again and he can’t be here for the kids at night. Steve has to get used to sleeping alone. He’s been sleeping alone for months, so why is it so hard now?

He takes a step forward, his memory flashing scenes in his mind. Bucky, body naked, cock red and leaking. Another step. Bucky’s mouth on Steve’s dick, his long lashes hiding his gray eyes. Bucky, warm and pressed up against Steve after they’ve fucked for hours in that stupid motel room.

Steve wavers and leans against the wall, panting. He’s hard and throbbing between his legs. He stumbles into the bathroom and pops a few of his anxiety pills before he tries to go into the bedroom.

Billy is sitting there in the middle of the bed, his shaggy hair ruffled, his nose red.

“What’s up, Bill?” Steve asks. He decides to use his thighs to pull his erection down despite the pain of it. It’s better than holding a conversation with an erection facing his son.

“You think about it a lot.”

Steve’s eyes widen.

“After I saw your thoughts. I couldn’t help it. I kept—looking.”

“Billy.” Steve frowns, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I know. I’m sorry. But it was nice to know you’ve been with Dad. They say sex is important to a relationship but—it feels like that’s all you have with Dad now. And I dunno. I just—I don’t want sex to be the only thing between me and Teddy. So I keep avoiding it.”

“Oh Bill.” Steve plops down next to Billy. Billy folds into Steve, his head safe and secure on Steve’s chest. Steve holds him close and leans back against the pillows. He strokes his fingers through Billy’s hair like he’s done since Billy had enough hair to do it. He looked like a little John Lennon when he was a kid. Steve smirks. He’d missed the entire Beatles craze and yet still knew what John Lennon looked like.

“That’s not the only thing I have with Bucky. We still talk. We’re trying to work this whole thing out.”

“But he’s not here,” Billy says with a dead-panned tone.

“He’s ashamed. It’s—hard to explain. You shouldn’t hear it from me anyway. But we have more than just sex. And you and Teddy have way more than just sex. You were friends first right?”

Billy nods.

“Then that’s the most important part. You’re friends. You’ll always be friends.”

“Are you and Dad friends?”

“Of course. We’re best friends. There are certain people that come into your life and some of them will stay and some of them will go. But that doesn’t mean you have to figure out which ones stay or not. If Teddy ends up going, just enjoy what you had. If he stays, then that’s great. But don’t avoid something because you think it’ll make that decision for you. I mean, I’m not sayin’ you should have sex. But if you’re ready—I can’t stop you. I can only teach you how to be safe.”

“A guy at school asked me if I’m a catcher. He said I look like one.”

Steve frowns.

“Is it bad? To be the bottom? Is it wrong?”

“Do you really want to have this conversation with me? Because I’m about to dump a huge TMI on you.”

Billy laughs. He pulls himself off Steve and sits cross-legged, his big brown eyes shimmering with mirth. “Maybe if we don’t touch it’ll be okay.”

“Ha. Sounds good.” Steve dives off the edge. People always talk about how sheltering their kids and abstinence is the best thing for them, but Steve thinks that’s a load of shit. The best practice is honesty. It’s telling children it’s okay to explore their feelings and their bodies, and it’s even better when they’re already prepared and safe about doing it. It’s better that Steve told a crying Billy what a wet dream was when he’d had one because Billy had been so ashamed. It’s better to normalize it than hide it away and then have children hide it from their parents in return. Steve doesn’t want to be the kind of parent that his children hide things from. He’d never hidden anything from his ma, and he was damn grateful for her child-rearing practices. They were the same as Steve’s now.

“I bottom sometimes,” Steve says. “It’s not wrong, it can feel real nice, and as long as you’re safe with it, it’s perfectly fine to do. It takes practice, and your first time probably won’t be all that great, but it’s not wrong. And the cool thing about being with someone who has the exact same parts as you is you can switch it up sometimes. But if you like it a certain way, there’s nothing wrong with that either.”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

Steve shrugs. “It hurts. Or it can hurt. Just make sure you’ve got a ton of lube, and if you think that’s enough, add more lube.”

Billy laughs. It’s the first full laugh Steve’s heard out of him in a long time and it’s music to his ears.  

“And wear a condom. Or have Teddy wear one. And just go slow. You’re not like—entirely oblivious right?” Steve’s heart speeds up. “I mean—you know? The other stuff? Wow—uh—wow this is getting weird.”

“Yeah, I’ve watched porn, Dad.” Billy’s smirking, but his cheeks are red as apples.

“Then kinda emulate that. But remember porn is weird sometimes, so don’t do anything you think looks dangerous or not realistic. And if something hurts, it’s perfectly okay to stop if you don’t like it. There’s loads of ways to be intimate without anal sex. Blow jobs are just as good, if not better, honestly.”

Billy bursts out laughing and covers his face. He rolls away on the bed and drops to the floor. He sighs, rolling his eyes. “You’re unreal you know?”

“I’m honest.” Steve is unapologetic, and while his skin is crawling up and down about having this conversation with his child because his baby is growing up, he’s glad he’s having it nonetheless. The type of trust Billy has in him means more to Steve than all the money in the world. Which reminds him, he needs to look at the budget. The house is paid off, but that doesn’t mean the property taxes will stop.

“So if I’m not ready for like—sex-sex—other stuff is okay?”

“You do whatever you’re comfortable with, baby. And if that means nothing at all, then that’s all you do too. It’s your body. No one can tell you how to use it. Ever.”

Billy smiles. “I don’t think I’m ready.” He gets off the floor and then he’s out of the room.

Steve breathes a sigh of selfish relief. He leans back on the bed, watching the ceiling fan spin around and around. Billy is mature enough to know he doesn’t have to rush sex. But he’s curious enough to ask about it. Steve’s children are not children anymore. And the next time Steve blinks they’ll be adults. And a blink after that and there’ll be grandchildren.

And where does that leave Steve when Billy and Teddy die because their lifespans aren’t like Steve’s?

Steve chokes on a sob. He presses his face into the pillow, wishing he could just _age_ like a normal person. He doesn’t like the idea of suicide, but if the alternative is leading a life that just _exists_ , he isn’t sure what other option he’ll have one day. And people think death is something to fear. Life everlasting is the cruelest joke Steve’s ever heard. He’s sure he’ll die eventually. Everything does. Even gods have lifespans, as Thor told him once. But he doesn’t know how long he’ll have to suffer first, and that’s what scares him the most.

* * *

Sam’s at the kitchen table when Steve walks in. There’s coffee already made and warm in the percolator so Steve heads that way first.

The flow of coffee echoes into the ceramic mug and Steve’s spine tingles. He likes this part. Watching coffee swirl and mix with the creamer he puts in next. He takes a sip and his senses spring alive. Getting through the day often takes a few cups of coffee, and Steve doesn’t mind caffeine being his security blanket. There are worse things.

Sam’s reading his Kindle, scrolling online news sources and stretching his neck. His skin glows like it always has, but Steve can’t stop looking at the gray in his hair.

“What?” Sam asks.

“Oh. Nothing.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sam doesn’t pry though, because Sam has never been interested in prying.

Tommy zooms into the room. In the blink of an eye he’s got a cup of coffee and is sitting at the breakfast table. “Sup Pops?”

“Good morning.” Steve smiles.

“Finally decide to come back and share the early hours with your family? Thought for a sec you’d just leave us like Bucky did.”

“Hey,” Sam spits out, his hand on Tommy’s. “Don’t you dare do that to him.”

“It’s fine, Sam.” Steve appreciates the defense nonetheless. He takes a sip of his coffee, letting the heat warm along his insides. “I deserve it.”

Sam lets go of Tommy’s hand and Tommy sits back to drink his coffee.

“Can I make you some eggs?” Steve asks. “Bacon?”

“Teddy’s gonna make waffles when he gets up.” Tommy looks genuinely apologetic all of the sudden. He winces, his fingers poking and tapping along his coffee mug. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Steve knew that’s all it’d take. Tommy is explosive whereas Billy is introspective. Tommy’s always had Steve’s fire in him, but that fire is still contained by goodness and understanding, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Where Billy was always Bucky’s little boy, Tommy is Steve’s.

“S’okay, kiddo.”

Before Sam can make any comment, Teddy and Billy walk in. Billy’s hair is rumpled and Teddy’s sticks out in spikes. Billy drops into a chair and Teddy whistles to himself while he sets out gathering breakfast items. Steve’s amazed at how easily he navigates the room. Then again, Teddy was the one to keep Billy sane when Steve left each night.

Guilt eats at Steve’s heart, withering it away. He looks at his coffee and decides to see how long it’ll take for his eyes to learn how to drink it instead of his mouth.

“Steve?” Teddy asks. He nudges Steve on the shoulder when Steve doesn’t move. “Do you want waffles?”

“Oh uh—no thank you. I’ve got to pick up some meds anyway.” He stands up and catches the way Tommy and Billy look at each other. He’s sure they don’t like that Steve takes medicine now, but Steve’s never been too proud for medicine, and since it had saved his life for long enough before the serum, he’s trusting it again now. Even if it meant he’d pass out on the bathroom floor only for Teddy and Billy to find him.

He swallows roughly. He won’t let that happen again. Medicine is great. Abuse of it, not so much.

Steve wishes he could text Bucky. Bucky’s never bothered with getting a cell phone. Usually if anyone wants to get in contact with him, they went through Steve because Steve was the one who actually bothered to check a phone or email. Steve just wishes he could send off a little text that he’s thinking about Bucky. Then again, maybe that’s the entire reason why Bucky never got one. Space is valuable to Bucky.

The drive to the pharmacy is easy. It’s cloudy out but the rain isn’t expected for a few more days. The world is lush and green around Steve. Other than the dreary clouds, it’s almost vibrant. So much water has helped with so much life. Steve gets his medicine and promptly tosses one back.

He ponders on driving back home to do what he’s supposed to do. There’s laundry. Dishes, probably. He should really clean the master bathroom. The bills need to be paid and addressed. He needs to go over finances. The stipend he’d been given for rehabilitation he knows is running out. He’s not sure what kind of job he wants, but he knows he needs one. Maybe a police officer. He knows he’d be welcome back to the military despite everything that happened, but he doesn’t want to leave his children. A firefighter wouldn’t be so bad either. Maybe he’d do that. He needs to support this family. Professor Xavier was kind enough to allow Billy and Tommy to go to school for free as long as they kept their grades up, and Billy’s worked with Professor X himself. Dr. Strange has even helped a few times with the bills. It’s time Steve steps up and does something. But with Bucky, it just feels like too much. However, the world doesn’t stop and bills don’t care.

Steve turns right where he should’ve turned left. He needs Bucky. His skin aches and if he doesn’t press kisses to Bucky’s skin he’ll shatter.

The motel looks the same as it always has, which shouldn’t surprise Steve. He’s just not used to seeing it in the daylight anymore. Rust from water damage discolors its corners. The doors are brown and the stucco that covers the building is cream. It reminds Steve of a lost, misplaced thing. It’d lost its splendor when the world abandoned it.

Steve walks up to the familiar first floor motel room and knocks.

But then no one answers.

He waits, thinking Bucky may just be taking a shower. After five minutes of scrolling stupid shit on his phone, he knocks again.

And then no one answers.

Panic starts low in his stomach. It’s a clenched feeling, not enough to be in a full-panicked frenzy, but enough to know it could be. He knocks again, this time more frantic.

“Bucky! Buck, it’s me!”

No one.

The panic morphs into the frenzy. It shouts and wails in Steve’s blood, pumping up into his ears and shrieks. He sees red and bashes the door down before he has a moment to think about _being reasonable_ or that perhaps Bucky’s even asleep. Though he’s never been the deepest sleeper. Neither of them are.

The room is perfect. The bed’s made. There’s no clothes or shoes or the backpack that Bucky shoved things into. Nothing is there.

Steve sits on the bed, staring at the old TV with the crappy antenna. Bucky isn’t here. Bucky isn’t _here_. The world spins around Steve, smearing colors around like when he made tie-dye shirts with his children as kids. He fumbles for his phone and looks for a contact number Steve hasn’t actively reached out for in a long time. He waits.

“Hello Captain Rogers. Are you calling in regards to James Barnes’ whereabouts?” the informant asks.

“Yes.” Steve’s throat is sandpaper. He has to hold his arm up with his other one because he’s realizing how heavy his body is.

“Barnes is currently with us. He admitted being a flight-risk and opted to turn himself in instead.”

“He’s not—he’s not gonna hurt anyone.”

“I understand, but protocol states that Barnes is restricted to the United States, and even then, he must remain in the state you are in. I’ve only been instructed to let you know he informed us that he was a flight risk and now he’s being held here.”

“Can I come get him?”

“He explicitly said he doesn’t want to see you. I’m sorry. I’m only conveying the message.”

Steve hangs up. He looks over at the busted door and cringes. He’ll have to pay for it. He’s sure with his dwindling bank account that he’ll feel it when he does. He needs a job. He needs Bucky. But Bucky doesn’t want to see him. Bucky’s in a cell or whatever it is that they’re _holding him_ in. And he doesn’t want to see Steve.

Everything Steve Rogers is, everything he’s done and shaped himself to be. Is a fucking sham. Every part of his life is a lie. He died for nothing. He got the serum for nothing. He should’ve just died young and let Bucky die in Azzano. At least then Bucky wouldn’t have had to suffer decades of torture. At least then they would’ve died knowing they loved each other more than anything else in the world. At least then—it would’ve been the truth. Steve hates this tainted lie he’s told himself now. He misses Bucky’s hands when they were new on his body. He misses the kisses before they understood how to kiss. He misses the looks Bucky gave him from across the dining table when Mr. and Mrs. Barnes were _right there_. He misses everything about it now. He’d do anything for a short life full of love and happiness instead of this long one he’s been cursed to endure. Because that’s all he’s doing now.

He’s enduring.

* * *

Steve goes to marriage counseling alone the next week. He sits on the sofa and cries. When he comes home, Sam is cooking dinner for the kids. Billy’s in the living room with Teddy watching a movie. Tommy is nowhere to be found.

Steve goes up to the bedroom, grabs one of Bucky’s shirts and cries himself to sleep.

* * *

Steve is jarred awake. He opens his eyes to see Pietro—no—Tommy looking down at him. His dual-colored hair looks like a halo around his face.

“Dad?” Tommy asks.

“Whassup?” Steve wipes drool from his mouth. He feels like he’s just been brought back from the dead. Sometimes sleep comes easy and light. Sometimes it hits him with the full force of a building falling right atop him. Tonight, he’s been hit by the Empire State Building.

“I went to see Bucky.”

Steve freezes, alert and alive now.

“Sam told us where he was. Billy’s avoiding it but—I know better.”

“Avoiding what?” Steve asks. He wishes with all his might he could’ve protected his children from this. He yearns for the summer vacations at the beach. He longs for the days where the kids would bring home macaroni pictures they did in school and Bucky would proudly display them on the refrigerator. Children shouldn’t have to grow up so fast. Not even gifted children like Billy and Tommy. They’ve barely even discovered themselves and now they watch Steve’s life fall apart around him. They grow up too fast. It’s not fair.

“You n’ Buck’re over. There’s nothing left. The divorce papers came in the mail again today.” He brings out a packet from behind his back. “I read ‘em over. Bucky’s not askin’ for anything but a clean break. You get everything.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t want everything. He wants _Bucky_. After opening up at marriage counseling. After the nights of rough sex and delicious kisses. Why did Bucky still want to leave?   

“When you saw Bucky—did he let you see him?” Steve asks because he doesn’t want to talk about a divorce right now.

Tommy bites his lip. He sits on the side of the bed before crawling into Steve’s lap like he did as a child. Steve curls around his son protectively, nuzzling his cheek over Tommy’s soft hair. He smells like their bath soap and it’s enough to send vivid memories into Steve’s mind like a projector playing a film on a wall. Tommy, all smiles and soapy beard while Billy screams and wails over getting his hair washed. It was always a two-man show: Bucky would wash Billy’s hair and Steve would try to get him distracted with toy soldiers and silly faces. And there would be Tommy with those silly soap beards, laughing and smiling along.

Steve misses those days. He misses them not just because of Bucky but because his children were happy. They’re not happy anymore. Billy’s isolated and confused. Tommy runs through life with a chip on his shoulder. There’s so much in their minds that Steve can’t understand but he wishes they’d let him try.

“We talked yeah,” Tommy says, pulling Steve from his memories. “I yelled at him a lot. I was just—he’s hurting you so bad and he won’t even tell us why. He says it’s better this way, but it’s not. You’re stronger together.”

Steve tries to smile but his body’s _done_ with pretending. He stares at a dark corner of the room.

“I begged him to come home. Said I’d do all my homework right after school and the dishes each night. Said I’d do anything to make it easier. He wouldn’t even look at me.”

Steve bites his lip. He knows that Bucky wants the kids to hate him so they don’t hate themselves, but they’re not babies anymore. They’re growing boys—teenagers. Billy is talking about sex and Tommy is learning the power of bargaining. They’re aging right before Steve’s eyes and Bucky can’t see it. He still sees them as the children they once were. The children who needed the protection Bucky gave. He doesn’t have to protect them like that anymore.

“Lots of parents get divorced,” Tommy says like he’s recounting the weather outside. “It’s more unusual for people to stay married all their lives than it is to break it off. So this is normal.”

Steve’s heart aches. His son processing a divorce like its something _normal_ is horrifying. It yanks at Steve’s spine and splits it out his back. He lies there, pathetic and motionless. His fingers tremble when they squeeze Tommy just a bit more.

“I’m not angry at you, Dad. I don’t even think I’m angry at him anymore. I just know he’s killing you and I’m scared to lose you.” Tommy squeezes Steve harder, sniffling. “It’s okay to get a divorce. It’s okay to move on. Just don’t leave me too.”

Steve gasps, the realization shuddering around him like a whisper of cold wind. It hadn’t been about Bucky at all for Tommy. The anger, the fear. It was never because of _Bucky_. It was Steve. Steve has been Tommy’s rock since birth. Steve doesn’t like the notion of favorites in a family but he knows he’s Tommy’s. What scares Tommy more than Bucky leaving is Steve giving up.

Steve kisses Tommy’s forehead and hums. He feels steadier now, like a purpose has been whispered into his ear and he’s renewed in vigor and life. He can’t give up. He has to be there when Bucky won’t be. He has to be the rock in Tommy’s life because that’s his _fucking job_ as a parent and he wants to be it.

“You wanna sleep in here, Tom?”

Tommy rolls off Steve and scurries under the covers. He faces away from Steve, but there’s a calm to his muscles and it slowly heats up the bed, lulling Steve off to sleep once more. A light, easy sleep. Where Steve has a purpose and all his suffering matters.

* * *

Steve sits in front of the divorce papers. He’s heard nothing from Bucky, but he knows Bucky’s intentions are clear. His name is already there on the dotted line. He’s giving everything up, just like Tommy said. It’s not actually a divorce. Technically, it’s called a dissolution because there’s no dispute. But Steve isn’t a lawyer and the terms of art don’t matter to him. So it’s a divorce. It’s a wedge in his heart. A foul bite of wretched meat that he cannot swallow.

He shoves the papers away.

Sam pokes his head out of the kitchen. He’s got an apron on and there’s flour on his face. Steve thinks he’s baking cupcakes. Honestly, cupcakes would be good right about now. Steve could use the sugar to forget the pain. He’s always loved sweets.

“Don’t sign it then,” Sam says.

Steve scoffs. It’s not that simple. He can’t hold Bucky in a marriage Bucky doesn’t want to be in. If anything, that reminds Steve of how Hydra held Bucky against his will and Steve doesn’t want to ever remind Bucky of Hydra.

“Then just wait to sign. Get him to tell you why. You need the closure, right?” Sam rubs his hands together and Steve watches puffs of flour explode into the air.

Steve does want closure. If he can’t be with Bucky anymore, he wants to know why. He’s earned at least that much from Bucky. Steve is a selfish person, but that’s always been because he’s selfish about Bucky. He was protective of Bucky when they were younger and he’s protective now. To change his selfish tendencies regarding Bucky would be, frankly, slightly irritating to Steve. He wants to know why this has to end. But for that, Bucky has to be there. He has to _talk_ to Steve. And Steve isn’t going to go out of his way to reach out to Bucky. No. Bucky has to come to him. It’s only fair at this point.

Steve stands up and points to the kitchen. “Need help in there?”

Sam smiles bright. “Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Steve goes to marriage counseling even though Bucky hasn’t been there for the last two sessions. Steve’s talked about his relationship with Bucky. Sharon has been a big help in identifying some key issues, and maybe even places where Steve went wrong. Some of the bigger mistakes had been in not respecting Bucky’s boundaries in Romania. But it’d somehow ended up okay, so Steve had never considered it to be an issue for resentment. Maybe he’d been wrong.

He walks into the waiting room and nearly jumps out of his skin. Bucky’s sitting in a corner. He’s got sunglasses and a hat on. He’s staring down into a magazine with smiling children on the front, flipping pages far too quickly to be reading them.

“Bucky?” Steve feels glass cut across the back of his throat.

Bucky looks up and takes his sunglasses off. He has a nasty black eye and Steve notices a cut on his lip.

“Buck!” Steve gets on his knees, not caring about the sprinkling of others in the waiting room. He’s touching Bucky’s face, looking over the shiner on his eye and frowning. “Baby, what happened?”

Bucky just smirks. “You’d find it hilarious if I told you.”

Steve’s frown deepens. “And that’s why you’re gonna keep it from me?”

“No. I just don’t wanna tell you right here.”

In the office with Sharon, Steve’s vibrating. He’s curious why Bucky’s here when he’s not been for the past two weeks. He’s agitated about the black eye on Bucky’s face and the cut on his lip. He’s also entirely captivated by the story Bucky says he’ll tell about _why_ he’s got such wounds on his face.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” Sharon says. “Your eye okay?”

Bucky nods. He sits down next to Steve, their sides pressed together. Steve holds his breath in fear that Bucky’ll realize what he’s doing and move away.

They talk about inconsequential matters through most of the meeting. Bucky hardly talks. But he does keep his body pressed to Steve’s. He does squeeze Steve’s hand and he smirks when Steve attempts humor. It’s like whoever hit him hit his head a bit too hard. He’s acting more alive than he has in years.

“Hey Steve?” Bucky asks when they’re standing in the parking lot. “Can I—come home?”

Steve wants to cry. He reaches out for Bucky’s shoulders just in case Bucky slips away at the last minute. Bucky’s there and he’s solid, flesh and bone. He’s looking at Steve like a wounded puppy looks at its mother.

“You can always come home.” But Steve doesn’t want it to be over that easy. He wants answers and if he just lets this moment slip by, he’s afraid he’ll never get them. “But can we talk? In the car?”

Bucky shrugs and walks over to the SUV. Together they pile into the front. Steve isn’t sure if Bucky will let him drive them home or not, so Steve waits to get that answer. He’s in no rush anyway.

Steve looks up at the sky. Dark and gray. A storm’s brewing. Maybe in more ways than one if this conversation goes the way Steve doesn’t want it to go. But he needs to understand the emotional whirlwind Bucky’s sent him on. He needs to know if he’s standing or still drowning.

“You left the motel,” Steve says. He’s staring at the radio to keep his voice from wavering. In the session, he could tell Bucky didn’t want to open up. Sharon obviously had too. He’s worried he’ll push his luck, but Bucky’s in the car with him. He could always just start to drive off to keep Bucky inside. Not that that would actually deter Bucky from jumping out of the car. It’s not like they both haven’t done it on multiple occasions. “Why’d you leave?”

A long silence.

“I needed to think.”

“About?”

Bucky sighs and adjusts in the seat. He looks out the windshield, a blank stare that more than rivals Steve’s own. “You. Us.”

Steve swallows. It’s thick and his tongue sticks to the back of this mouth.

“Do you really even want this? After all I’ve done to you?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Steve reaches a hand out and rests it on Bucky’s thigh. “I love you.”

“Why?” The word is venom between Bucky’s teeth.

“Because God stitched my soul with yours. So you know where I stand. So—I need to know where you stand. Do you still love me too?”

Steve’s heart is beating so softly he feels dead. Everything inside him is paused, waiting to hear the words Bucky’s taking too long to relinquish. He watches for any sign of movement from Bucky’s lips but he’s frozen in stone. One minute. Two minutes. Steve’ll die if Bucky doesn’t stay anything.

“It’s not about whether I love you or not, Steve. It’s never been just about that.” Bucky looks at Steve, gray eyes heavy, lips parted to continue speaking. “Of course I love you. But the world’s dirty and messy and it’s never quite—let me be what I needed. I’ve never been free. I’ve never felt safe. And you’ve tried so hard to protect me, but I don’t _need_ your protection, Steve. I never did. But you’re part of the world, and the world won’t let me just—be.”

Steve’s brain clicks, sputtering to a stop as he hears words he wasn’t prepared for, even if he had asked.

“I’d die for you. A thousand times. A thousand ways. But I’ve never lived for myself, Steve. It’s been about you or the kids. Fuck—even Hydra. I’ve never—I’ve never lived. I gave up my arm to be less threatening. I gave up my freedom to be accommodating. I’m just—I haven’t been me since before World War II, Steve. And I don’t even know who that guy was anymore.”

“But I thought—”

“I know what you thought. I told you to think it. Give up the arm to give up the fight. Steve—I’ve tried so hard to be what you wanted that I gave up who I wanted to be. And now it’s just—I can’t do this. I can’t live for someone else. I have to live for me too.”

“I never—”

“I know, baby.” Bucky cups Steve’s face with his hand. “I know you never asked me to. I’m not blaming you. I just need to—God there’s no other way to say this—I need to escape it for awhile. I’m horrible for sayin’ it. And I’m sorry I’m making you cry—”

Steve hadn’t realized he started crying.

“—but I need to know me. Or I can’t know us. All I know is what’s been expected.”

“So it’s been all pretend to you?” Steve asked, face warming. “Bath time. Sex. Raising our kids? It’s just been some big fanciful lie outta you?”

“No,” Bucky’s voice is hoarse. “No that’s not what I’m tryin’ to say. This is—fuck—this is hard to explain. I don’t think anyone’s gonna understand until they look through a pair of eyes and have no control of what they’re doing. I wasn’t just brainwashed Steve. I was bound. And I carry that every day. I fall into step or I do things you ask because someone once told me that’s how it had to be. And I know it’s not you. I know you never ever wanted to hurt me and you’re not, baby. You’re not hurting me. I just need—to decide something on my own.”

“And deciding to ruin our marriage is what it’s gonna take?” Steve hits the steering wheel to keep from breaking a window or worse, Bucky’s jaw. He’s never processed anger well. A punch to the gut. A smart-mouth jab. Steve’s never kept quiet about his anger. He isn’t starting now.

“Steve—”

“Fuck you.” Steve pulls open the glove box and takes the divorce papers out. _The dissolution papers_. Whatever his attorney called them. He signs down at the bottom and shoves them at Bucky, tears warm and streaming down his face. “Run away then. Because if you can’t realize that I’ve given up so much for you too because that’s what people do when they love each other, then clearly this was a mistake in the first place.”

Bucky’s lips part. He looks down at the papers and then at Steve’s quivering lip, then down again.

“Get out of my car,” Steve says. “It’s all mine now anyway right? Since I signed those fucking papers?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and looks like he’s on the verge of finally saying what he’s been avoiding this entire time.

Steve still doesn’t know why he has a black eye.

Bucky opens the car door, rolls up the dissolution papers and then he’s walking away. Steve doesn’t even hear the door shut. He’s too angry to. His pulse is pounding at his eardrum, his nerves shrieking and begging for him to run after Bucky. After all those years. After their children, Wakanda, Romania—World War fucking II. It’s all over. Just with a flick of a pen. It’s all over.

Steve doesn’t have a husband. He has an ex. He has someone he loves so much he could die but that person doesn’t want him anymore. He’s a reminder of a past that Bucky lost so long ago and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it. So he stays angry. Because anger is better than sadness. It feels vindicated and righteous. It feels earned. Sadness hurts. Sadness admits guilt. Sadness crushes Steve’s bones into dust. He must be strong for his children. He’s all they have now.

He signed those damn papers.

He should never have signed those damn papers.

* * *

A month later, Steve calls Natasha and breaks down over the phone with her. She locates Bucky and gets Steve on a plane to see him.

He’s outside the building now. Uber driver long gone. The sun’s setting. It’s been a long time since Steve saw sunlight. It’s foreign on his eyes. A brightness that leaves him pierced instead of emboldened. He feels strange, bathed in hues of orange and gold instead of the darkness and sallow colors of his home. The warmth is unusual on his skin. He’s so used to being cold now. A cold bed. A cold house. A cold list of everything he’d gotten in the dissolution. Bucky had a savings account. Steve wasn’t sure where Bucky got the money, but he mostly didn’t care. It kept him out of the workforce for a few more months and it put food in the bellies of their children. Bucky had signed that over to Steve too. He hadn’t been joking when he said he’d given Steve _everything_.

The hotel is a lot nicer than the one in New York. Orlando isn’t where Steve imagined Bucky to go, but then again, a hotel close to Steve and the kids’ favorite theme park did put a strike of hope inside Steve. He wants to believe in fate and not circumstance, but faith has been hard to come by these days. He’s tried to be strong for the kids, but even through the smiles and family dinners, they both can read between the lines of his face.

Steve knocks on the door and waits. This reminds him so much of the first time he found Bucky in that shabby motel.

Bucky opens the door, his face unreadable—void.

“Why is love not enough?” Steve asks.

Bucky sighs and leans against the doorframe. He’s wearing a soft shirt that Steve wants to touch.

“Please. Just tell me why I’m not enough.” Tears are prickling Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t want to be reduced to this mess. He doesn’t like crying. It hurts his forehead and the way his vision blurs reminds him of when he had fevers back before the serum. He hates crying. He just can’t stop it. Everything in his body is amplified. The good. The bad. The pain. The love. Everything Steve feels is raw and live and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. A punch hurts twice as much. Love burns twice as deep. When Erskine said the serum enhanced the person—he probably didn’t even realize how literal that was.

Bucky pulls Steve into the hotel room and sits at the desk. Steve just stands. He needs to stand so that he can run. He doesn’t want to fear Bucky. But the words he my say hover in the room like knives and Steve can’t take the pain anymore. He’s a used up pin cushion and he’s running out of space for more pins to push.

“You’ve always been enough,” Bucky finally says. “Even before—all that.” He gestures to Steve’s body.

“Do you not like this body?” Steve asks, remembering their first session of marriage counseling. The jealousy Bucky admitted to having, had it stayed and morphed into something else?

“I like it just fine. Honestly Steve, I don’t care what your body looks like. It’s never been about your body.”

Steve sits down because his knees are shaking. So much for running if he needed to.

“Then what?” Steve whispers. “What did I do wrong?”

Bucky closes his eyes. For a long time he sits completely motionless, his soft shirt hugging the curves of his muscle. The bit that’s bundled up by where his left arm used to be. His hair is soft and clean. His stubble is thick, verging on a beard but it’s not quite there yet.

“I’ve said it so many times, Steve. You don’t ever listen.”

Steve frowns.

“I said it wasn’t about you. This has never been about _you_.”

“We’re a family, Buck.” Steve clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want anger to rise up. Anger only leads to them both shutting down, but he can’t deny the agitation he feels over the way Bucky _never_ answers him. So it’s not about Steve, then what _is_ it about? Because Steve’s never heard. Freedom? Autonomy? Bucky had a choice to stay or go. He had a choice to adopt kids or not. Steve was always under the impression he’d chosen those things. How it hadn’t been that Bucky’s decision left Steve floundering for an answer he couldn’t find on his own.

“Not anymore.” Bucky puts his feet up on the desk. “Haven’t been for a month.”

“Because you didn’t want us. Don’t you dare act like I pushed you away.”

Bucky doesn’t even get upset. He shrugs his armless shoulder, face impassive. “I know, Steve.”

Steve wants to scream. Bucky is so close and yet Steve can’t reach him. There’s a wall between them. Maybe it’s been building up since before the war. Maybe when Bucky started getting his memories back. Steve’s not sure where it started but he knows it started long ago. He’d watched his family decline. He’d watched Bucky stop smiling. He’d just thought it could be fixable. But here they were, divorced and living in separate states. Was there anything to get back? Or was it truly time for Steve to move on?

“What do you want to do with your life, Bucky?” Steve asks.

“I want—to be free.”

Steve looks to the ankle tracker on Bucky’s leg. It flashes, red and twinkling with mischief. A constant reminder that someone is always watching.

“You could take it off. I don’t know why you haven’t yet.”

“Because that’s not who I am, Steve. I don’t want to break the rules. I’ve never—before all,” Bucky looks like he’s struggling to find words, his face twisting and squeezing, “before all—whatever this is. I was never a bad person. The only illegal thing I ever did was love you.”

Steve’s heart squeezes. His spine shudders and he slips forward on the side of the bed. He can feel Bucky’s pain radiate like hot irons. Bucky’s beneath it all, feeling the sting as the brands burn his skin. Monster. Assassin. Killer. Traitor. Steve had heard them all. They sliced and seared Bucky’s skin, a constant reminder that he could never be the man he was before he’d boarded a train and reported for duty.

“I went and saw my family,” Bucky says. “I mean—the Proctor family. Rebecca’s kids.”

Steve stays silent.

“They looked at my shoulder here,” he touches his left side, “and I saw when it clicked. Great Uncle Bucky the Hydra assassin. I don’t even know what I was thinking anymore.”

“Buck—”

“Their dad didn’t let me in the house. I never got to see Rebecca before she died. She died thinking she was going to see me again, and I’m still—here. I’ve thought so much about stopping it.”

“Stopping?”

Bucky looks up at Steve with shiny eyes. “Killing myself, Steve.”

A knot forms in Steve’s stomach. It yanks violently toward Bucky but Steve stays as still as stone. He’s thought the same when he’s hit some dark spots. But he’d never do it. He has more than just himself to live for. He’s got his children. Sam. Natasha. He’s got a future to give to someone else. A world to let Billy and Tommy explore. It’s not just about Steve anymore. He wonders if Bucky—deep down—knows the same.

“I’m just so tired,” Bucky says. “I’m so tired of trying so hard to be something else. I just want to be me again. I miss me, Steve. But I don’t know how to be him anymore. I don’t—know how to laugh or smile. I don’t know how to just—fuck—I don’t even remember how to dance.” Tears slide down Bucky’s face and before they reach his chin, Steve’s there.

He’s got his thumbs brushing the streaks from Bucky’s cheeks. He’s in between Bucky’s legs, kneeling close and staring up with all the reverence he would give an angel. After all this time, after the months of searching, the months of Steve blaming himself, of punishing himself. It truly was never about him. It was never about Bucky running away. It was about Bucky _finally_ being who he was always destined to be. Not the Winter Soldier. Not Steve’s right-hand man. It was about James Barnes, son of George and Winifred. It’s a resurrection, and Steve feels shamed for not having been aware of it before. Bucky never wanted to run away. He only wanted to live.

Bucky pulls Steve into a hug, sobbing into Steve’s ear. They hold each other, tight and awkward and Steve’s sure Bucky’s spine is starting to burn like Steve’s is. Steve lets Bucky cry. They’re full sobs, sobs that echo in the room, shake Bucky’s skin and leave his muscles quaking and bruised. But they’re good. They’re the sounds of a man remembering he had a life once. The sounds of longing, love, and loss. The sounds of a man who very much wants to come home, he just doesn’t know how.

So Steve holds him. He pulls him down onto the floor and Bucky curls into Steve’s body. He cries against Steve’s neck, fingers twisting into Steve’s cotton shirt. He’s so big but fits like a puzzle with Steve’s body. He’s light and pliant and Steve rocks him like a doll.

“I’m sorry,” Steve finally whispers as the room fades to dark. The moon is crawling into the sky, the sun now abed. Bucky’s sobs are hushed squeezes and sniffles now. “I’m so sorry.”

“S’not—s’not your fault.”

“I should’ve known better.”

“Steve. Please.” Bucky sighs and pulls back. He wipes his cheeks and nose. “You can’t be responsible for the world.”

“But you’re my world, Buck.”

Bucky stands up and turns on one of the yellow lamps on the wall. He falls into the bed, sigh after sigh.

Steve moves to sit by Bucky’s side. He reaches his hand out and strokes through Bucky’s shaggy hair. Bucky closes his eyes, humming.

“I know you’re not the same Steve anymore. I know people are allowed to change—but I didn’t want to ever be this person.”

Steve nods, because after so long of being in the dark, Steve sees it so clearly now. It’s not about him or the kids. It’s not about the life they’ve fought tooth and nail to carve out together. It’s so much deeper. It’s Bucky’s very identity. It’s when people look at him and instantly think of before they think of his family. It’s the history books populating his name along with Winter Soldier. It’s so much deeper, and Steve had been so, so oblivious. Because he had Bucky back. He never stopped to think what parts of Bucky were missing.

“I want to go to school,” Bucky says. “I want to work on planes and spaceships because that shit was always the coolest to me, and now it’s all _real_. I want a job, and for my kids to be proud of me. I want their kids to be proud of me. I don’t want a shadow on my back anymore.” He looks to his missing arm. “I thought giving up the arm would make it better. But when I look at myself I just remember everything that happened. I don’t know what to do, Steve.”

Steve scoops Bucky into his arms and Bucky comes willingly. He curls into Steve’s chest and breathes in deep. Steve does the same. Bucky’s shampoo is sweet and it wafts into the air when he moves his head. His skin is soft, neck red and shivering each time he strokes his fingers over it.

They kiss. It’s soft at first, more of just lips pressing together and breathing in each other’s air. But then Bucky’s cupping Steve’s face and wrapping himself around Steve. He’s grinding down and whining and Steve isn’t sure if this should happen again just like the first time he found Bucky in a motel. But Steve’s human. He has needs and his hand can only do so much when his heart is begging for someone else. And Bucky’s real now, he’s not a distant, muddled picture in the back of Steve’s head while he jerks off in the shower. Bucky’s warm and relaxed and he’s slipping his fingers under Steve’s shirt. He’s flicking at Steve’s nipples, twisting and kissing Steve’s throat. He’s enveloping Steve and Steve again thinks, he’s only human.

He grabs Bucky’s ass, practically purring when he kisses Bucky on the mouth again. The atmosphere is different. The angered, erratic behavior of the first time is missing. The room is quieter, less frenzied. Their hearts are beating, but not enough to boom thunder into the world.

Bucky yanks Steve’s pants off and Steve thinks he’ll bottom like he usually does, except Bucky’s taking off his pants and he’s rubbing Steve’s cock between his asscheeks. He’s crying and whispering words that Steve can’t understand. Or maybe he does but his mind can’t think of them. He’s shivering, pulling Bucky to him and willing the universe to stitch not just their souls, but their bodies together. He doesn’t want to lose Bucky again. He doesn’t want the pain that Bucky’s shared with him to be hidden away. Steve wants to feel it. He wants Bucky’s pain. He wants his happiness and his fears. He wants the good days and the bad. He wants everything that it takes to be Bucky’s partner.

“Oh G-God,” Steve hisses out when Bucky pushes his hole over Steve’s cock. It’d been so long, Steve had forgotten the initial way his body melted when Bucky took him inside. Heat and pleasure sizzle like firecrackers beneath the skin. Steve can see their glow. They reflect in the shine of Bucky’s eyes, they whisper when skin and skin meet.

Bucky moves slowly, his body rolling with enough precision to display each and every muscle it holds inside.

Steve brings his hand down Bucky’s body, his thumb paying special attention to Bucky’s nipple.

Bucky leans into the touch, biting his lip. He keeps rocking, his gaze flicking up every so often to smirk at Steve.

They’re not the type to avoid talking when having sex. Bucky likes a round of dirty talk as much as the next porn star, but neither use words now. They speak with their bodies. Steve’s big arms pulling Bucky into him, protecting him from the world, from the history books and the looks. From being unwelcome in his family’s own home. From the vitriol that governments around the world have cast his way.

Bucky’s body apologizes. It apologizes in how it squeezes Steve inside him. How his lips offer kisses, shy and never-ending. His fingers roam Steve’s body, admiring his chest, the line down to his bellybutton before resting on Steve’s shoulders.

The bed doesn’t even rock with them, their thrusts are so gentle. Bucky sniffs by Steve’s ear and Steve’s hand comes to cup the back of Bucky’s head.

Bucky stops thrusting.

“I don’t think I can come,” Bucky says.

“Me either.” Steve kisses Bucky’s shoulder. “But I like being close to you.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Bucky sits back and brushes his nose against Steve’s. “Do you remember the first time I let you in me?”

Steve blushes. He’d come the moment he’d gotten fully inside Bucky. And it wasn’t like that was even a long process. He was small before, a cock barely big enough to replace the size of three fingers. But Bucky howled for it because he knew better than to make Steve feel inadequate, even if it was the truth.

“You’re big now. And yeah, it’s different. I think part of me will always miss the tiny little guy I knew before. But it’s not your fault. The guy I want to be loved him.”

Steve blinks tears out of his eyes.

“But my heart is big. It’s strong from the pain it’s had, and I’ve got so much more room to love every single one of you.”

Steve laughs, breathless and with true happiness. If he could give the serum back he would. Nothing in the world is worth more to him than Bucky’s smile.

“Big,” Bucky kisses Steve’s mouth, “small,” another kiss, “any way at all.”

Steve remembers this poem. He hadn’t heard it since the night before Bucky fell from the train. It’d been a poem Bucky whispered out one night after they’d hastily jerked each other off. A poem made to inspire laughter more than love. Steve hoped Bucky wouldn’t say the next line.

“Tall or short.” Bucky kisses Steve’s cheek.

“Don’t say it—”

“I’ll always fuck your port.”

“God damn it!” Steve laughs, pushing his hand over Bucky’s mouth to keep Bucky from saying the rest. “No more. No more!”

“But it’s funny!’ Bucky wiggles his hips and Steve’s cock glides in and out, a pleasant wholesome feeling that makes Steve purr.

“Happy or sad,” Bucky continues, “when I’m with you I’m glad.”

Steve shakes his head, embarrassment more than he can take.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers. He rocks up and down again, letting his flagging cock slip between their bodies. “And I want to come home.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He rocks up into Bucky’s thrusts, body limp and relaxed. “I want that too.”

They order pizza, Bucky still rocking his hips as he speaks to the person over the phone. Steve latches onto a nipple and Bucky gasps, grinding down and squeezing as hard as he can in payback.

They only stop making love when the pizza guy arrives. A few crumpled bills tossed out and then they’re back together. They feed each other. They whisper unfinished conversations. They don’t come. But it’s not about that. Steve almost prefers it this way. They’re honest and open. Intimate and comforted. They’re together and for the first time in years, Steve feels secure in the way Bucky feels for him.

And when they fall asleep, Steve’s still inside Bucky, their hearts pressed together and their noses touching. Neither moves the entire night.

* * *

Steve listens to the steady rhythm of the shower. He’s lying on the bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of the hotel. He looks to his phone, curious. He’s never quite gotten over the fact that he has a king’s personal phone number.

As expected, T’Challa doesn’t answer. Steve feels guilty for calling him to ask for something. He hasn’t been the best of friends. He hasn’t been the best of friends to most people. But out of everyone, T’Challa, Sam, and Natasha were probably the ones who understood it the most. Life—simply was busy. After the recording, Steve prepares to leave a message.

“Hey T’Challa. Long time, huh? I know this is—probably kind of way overstepping it—and it’s no problem if you can’t or don’t feel comfortable with it, but—well I was just—I was just wondering if uh, if you could maybe talk to Shuri about a silicone arm for Bucky? Or something? Just—something that makes him know there’s something there. That’s not a machine. Or well—it is but it doesn’t look like it. God, I’m sorry. This is—selfish. Nevermind.” He pulls the phone away, trying to remember the button to hit to make the robot lady come on the phone to tell him how to delete the message. “Damn it. Where’s the—five?” Steve presses the button and it does nothing. “Fuck.” He hangs up, knowing the message went to T’Challa’s messages. He also knows that T’Challa will find it hilarious.

Bucky comes out of the shower. Water droplets cling to his shoulders. His hair is limp and moves heavily by his face. Steve’s eyes go lower and the towel barely hides the muscles that lead to Bucky’s cock.

“Hey, Daddy,” Steve says, smirking.

Bucky looks up, eyes round before recollection seeps in. He smirks, eyes now narrow. “Hey, baby.”

“You’re beautiful.” Steve drops his phone on his chest.

Bucky looks in the mirror and touches his hair. He pouts before ripping his gaze away.

Steve frowns, unsure if he should just continue to shower Bucky in as many compliments as he can. Even their lifespans couldn’t compete with the many, many ways Steve could tell Bucky how perfect he is. But he knows that words often don’t matter to Bucky. They’re kind gestures, but they don’t latch on and stay the way actions do.

Steve gets up and crawls on his knees over to Bucky. He winks up at Bucky, his hands hovering at the towel.

“I thought we were leaving?” Bucky asks.

“But you look so tasty.”

Bucky winces and looks away. So Steve stops. He sits back on his haunches and waits for Bucky to explain the pained expression on his face. But Bucky doesn’t explain. He steps around Steve and removes the towel to wrap around his head.

Steve watches Bucky pull on briefs and then a pair of pants. Bucky stops and sits on the bed, his face dropping into his hands.

“Talk to me.” Steve crawls over to Bucky and rests his head next to Bucky on the bed.

Bucky nods, chewing his bottom lip. “You know how sometimes you wanna be held?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I wanna be held too—sometimes.” Bucky’s cheeks dust red. He looks away, as if admitting vulnerability is something to be ashamed of. “I’ve tried to be strong for you all my life but—sometimes it’s hard.”

Steve gets onto the bed and pulls Bucky into his arms. He kisses Bucky’s forehead and lets Bucky melt against him. Bucky’s sigh isn’t just air leaving his body. It’s tension. Anxiety. It’s the ball in his throat that squeezes when he tries to ask for something he wants. It’s the stones in his stomach. Steve can feel Bucky grow lighter.

“I’ll hold you more than sometimes.” Steve kisses Bucky’s face. “Just talk to me, Buck. Stop—bottling it all up.”

Bucky’s silent for a long time. They listen to the white noise of the room, the A/C unit, the footsteps outside. They listen to each other’s breathing and their casual shifts. Steve moves to make sure his legs don’t go numb. Bucky moves to adjust his spine. They hold onto each other, like the world might slip from below them if they stop.

“I’ve been reading,” Bucky says, “about—alternative lifestyles.”

Steve cocks a brow.

“Not like, not bad. Just. Just different. I mean, we sometimes mess around but I don’t think we’ve ever meant any of it.”

“Any of what?”

“Like when you call me ‘daddy’. Or when we get rough. It’s just fun, and I like it. But I kinda wanna call you ‘daddy’ too. I just don’t know if it’s something you’re comfortable with.”

“I’m comfortable with anything if it’s you, Buck. If you wanna mess around with stuff, we’ll mess around with stuff.”

“But do _you_ want to mess around with stuff? I’m not asking to be your submissive or anything. I don’t think I could do that. But I like the idea of us just—giving each other that when we need it. I know when you need it. But I’ve needed it for so long and I’ve just—ignored it.”

Steve drops his head on Bucky’s shoulder. It’s not like they hadn’t played around with belts and ropes when Steve was smaller. Bucky liked getting tied up and Steve liked the control Bucky gave him. When things changed, the world, Steve—they didn’t care so much about exploring as much as just existing together. And it’s not to say they didn’t pick it back up after things calmed down with Thanos. But Bucky was right. Steve needed it, and Bucky always gave it. But Steve never asked if Bucky needed it.

Steve isn’t sure what kind of person that makes him.

“Does this make sense?” Bucky asks.

Steve hums in affirmation. He kisses Bucky’s neck, soft and reverent. He let his lips linger there, his tongue swiping out to play with the skin.

Bucky shivers.

It is this difference that Steve truly thinks interesting about their relationship. Words are hard for Steve. What he wants to convey with words, they often jumble in his throat or along the way, he finds they lose their meaning. But Bucky doesn’t care for the words. He cares for the actions. Steve’s body is better at speaking to Bucky than his mouth is. So he speaks with his body. And maybe that’s why Bucky liked him in the first place. Words could hide motive and intent. Actions were always clear. Steve has always been a man of action, even if his tiny body couldn’t support it. Bucky, clever with words, had learned to manipulate and twist them, but he isn’t as good with his body as he is his mind.

So together, they complete each other. Mind and body, both good at something. Words. Actions. Together they work, and so it seems natural that they sought each other out all those years ago.

Steve snakes a hand down into Bucky’s fresh pants. He’ll feel guilty about ruining them later. Bucky isn’t saying no. He’s arched into Steve’s hand, his head resting back on Steve’s chest, eyes fluttering closed. His mouth opens in an easy sigh.

Steve’s tongue caresses Bucky’s neck again, tracing the coils of muscle beneath the ear. He kisses soft, his lips folding and lingering. His breath puffing against skin.

Bucky grips Steve’s knee and lets out a shaky breath.

It isn’t that Steve doesn’t like to take control anymore. It’s just—he doesn’t need to. He’s become so secure in this body that giving himself to someone became second nature, at least when that person is Bucky. And with Hydra, Steve thought Bucky didn’t want to let someone else control him, even if it is Steve, even if it is something as simple as sex. Bucky had been so quick to remind Steve in every other aspect of their lives, that Steve had just filled in the blanks here too.

Steve lays Bucky on the bed, a kiss to his lips before he slots between Bucky’s legs. He presses himself against Bucky, rocking slowly, watching Bucky’s face if he thinks he’s made a mistake.

“Who do you want me to be right now?” Steve asks.

A tear slips down Bucky’s face. “My husband.” He pulls Steve atop him, their lips rough and twisting together. Teeth get in the way, noses hiss and strain to breathe. Steve lets his hand wander again into Bucky’s pants. He grips hard, squeezing with enough force that Bucky tries to jerk back but moans.

“Like that, baby?” Steve’s voice is a hushed, rough whisper.

“Y-yeah.” Bucky rocks up into Steve, his own hand coming to grip Steve’s wrist. “M-more.”

Steve’s rough in how he handles Bucky. His hand aches from how hard he’s squeezing, and he’s scared to look at the damage he’s causing. But Bucky’s hard and he’s still managing to rock his cock in and out of Steve’s fist. His lips are parted and his face flushed. He looks at Steve with a vulnerability—a life that Steve hasn’t seen in so long.

Steve cups Bucky’s balls and lets his nails dig into the soft skin.

Bucky jerks up, yelping.

Steve pulls back, eyes wide, heart up in his throat. Oh he’s messed up. Bucky trusted him and now he’s messed up!

“Come back,” Bucky says. “It just surprised me. I liked it.”

“You sure?” Steve doesn’t think he’ll do it again anyway. He doesn’t like the idea of hurting Bucky. He hates the sounds Bucky makes when he’s in pain; they reach into Steve’s heart and pull on the strings until he’s gagging and sputtering blood from the mouth.

“Maybe we should talk about this before we do it.” Bucky curls his legs up and rests his chin atop his knees.

Steve sighs, relieved he doesn’t have to do this right now. He’ll do it. But without the mental preparation, without the time to understand Bucky’s desires and Steve’s own feelings, it’s all so jarring. Like he’s stumbled naked out into a crowd of people.

“It’s so natural when it’s me.” Bucky looks away, his brow creased and his lips pursed.

Steve wants to tell him it’s not his fault. Steve’s gotten so used to the world resting on his shoulders that the one place he didn’t have to worry about a decision was in the bedroom. Again, selfish. He doesn’t know if that means he’s not worth Bucky anymore.

“Hey.” Bucky cups Steve’s jaw. “You’re okay.”

“How do you do that?” Steve asks. “I look at you and know you’re sad, but I don’t know how to make it stop. You just—do.”

Bucky smirks. “I’ve had decades of practice.”

“I don’t want this to be so one-sided.” Steve crosses his arms, still feeling naked in a sea of people. He looks around the room. There’s a lamp. The terrible portraits he’s sure the corporation stocks in every room. He still can’t discard the feeling of thousands looking at him. Like every bad deed he’s ever done is under a microscope right now.  

“It’s not—” Bucky laughs. “You’re not one-sided. It’ll just take time to get used to it. I just grew up always being that guy for you. It’s okay. Really.”

Steve shrugs. He doesn’t think it’s okay, but he knows Bucky isn’t one for arguments, least of all for this one. “So ready to go?” Steve asks instead.

Bucky nods.

They take little time in gathering up Bucky’s things. Steve takes a moment to look around the hotel room. It’s small, its walls knowing far too much about people’s lives than Steve could ever imagine. But it’s where he’d finally reconciled with Bucky. It was the room that put them on the path to redemption.

Steve is so ready to be redeemed.

* * *

They sit in the car together, both staring up at the house. Tommy and Billy would be inside, and while Billy is agreeable, Tommy has the same temper as Steve. Brash and impulsive. Steve wishes Bucky could see the kids one at a time to keep everything stable.

“Ready?” Steve asks.

“Think it’d be easy to walk into my own home.” Bucky’s staring up at it like it may eat him.

“I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Together they get out of the car and make it to the front door. Steve’s put the key into this door so many times that he knows exactly the right jangle of the key to get it to unlock. Inside, the family room is clean. There’s a crumpled-up blanket over the couch but other than that, there’s no sign of teenagers’ shoes or clothing.

Bucky walks into the house, fingers dragging along the walls. He stops at the pictures on the entry table and smiles sadly. “I almost abandoned them.”

“That’s not what you were doing,” Steve’s voice is absolute.

Bucky sighs. “Think they’ll like my haircut?”

“Sure they’ll love it.”

The quiet continues as Bucky explores the home. The kitchen’s got a few dishes in the sink but other than that, it’s also been cleaned. Steve wonders who’d been maintaining it while he was gone. It may not have been a long trip, but boys don’t exactly understand the concept of a dishwasher.

“Should I get them?” Steve asks. He’s leaning on the archway connecting the kitchen to the family room. “Billy may even know you’re here.” Mind reading is such a powerful thing. Steve wishes Billy’s power was different. To know the absolute truth in people’s minds strikes horror in Steve.

Wordlessly, Bucky walks from the kitchen and sits in the family room. He runs his fingers through his hair, each time frowning when there’s not enough hair to tug on.

Steve calls the boys down and it only takes a few moments before there’s a thunderous sound coming from the stairs.

“You’re shitting me,” Tommy says, deadpanned.

Billy keeps quiet. His face is flushed but there’s a wide-eyed wonder in his irises. He steps down the last few stairs and walks into the family room, his gait gentle. For a boy who could destroy the world, he’s always so soft.

Bucky tries to speak several times but whatever he means to say dies in his throat.

“No.” Tommy backs up one step. “No he doesn’t get to just come back and pretend everything’s fine!”

“That’s not what we’re doing, Tom,” Steve says.

“Bullshit! He’s killed you, Dad! The meds, the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the depression. You’re paler than you used to be. Smaller. It’s—it’s not fair that he gets to just come back like this!”

Steve wants to look in a mirror. Smaller? He looks down at his body, a frown on his face. He doesn’t appear to be smaller in size. But his shoulders are hunched. His chin ducked. It’s not his size Tommy’s referring to. It’s his presence. Steve’s shriveled up since Bucky left. He still hasn’t gotten it back, even if he’s brought Bucky home.

“I know what I did was wrong,” Bucky says.

“I’m done with this,” Tommy says and zooms out of the room. A gust of wind in his wake.

Steve drops his head back, staring up at the ceiling. He’d expected as much. But Billy’s still there. He’s moving slowly over to Bucky, his face cautious, body tense. He’s a deer approaching a human and he’s not sure if the human will strike or not.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Bucky whispers. “I was just so lost in my head.”

Billy sits next to him and takes his hand. They remain silent, unmoving. Steve wants to say something. The silence is deafening and it pierces his ears with its bitter bite. But this moment isn’t for him. Bucky has a lot of making up to do with his kids. It starts in the silence of the family room. Nothing but a crumpled blanket out of place.

“I know,” Billy says. He moves closer to Bucky, putting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. They intertwine their fingers together. Nothing but the silence to fill Steve’s ears.

He goes into the kitchen, certain there are things Bucky wants to say to Billy without Steve watching like a hawk. They’re family, but that doesn’t mean Steve gets to know everything that Bucky says to his children. Distance is healthy. He smirks, moving over to the dishes. If distance was healthy, he and Bucky had the healthiest relationship on the planet. There was a fine line, Steve guessed.

He puts the two plates into the dishwasher, frowning. Who had been cleaning the house so well while he was gone?

Teddy slides in from the backdoor, his eyes round, face pudgy and ernest.

“Oh, hey Steve!” His smile is probably why Billy likes him so much. It’s easy and unafraid to meet his eyes. Steve’s smiles are always so worn. Billy hardly smiles. It’s nice to know he’s with someone who does it so easily.

“Teddy.” Steve decides to grab a soda from the refrigerator. Sometimes the syrup feels nice in the back of his throat. He can’t get caffeine to wake his eyes in the morning. He can’t get alcohol to make him drunk. But he can feel the sugar build in his throat, a memory of his childhood when he had too many Cokes. “Want one?”

Teddy pokes his head into the family room and then nods. They sit together at the breakfast table, both sipping on sugary soda.

“I’m glad he’s back,” Teddy says.

“Me too.” But Steve frowns. He wants to know why Teddy’s glad. It’s not presumptuous to believe Billy’s talked about Bucky to him, but the relief on Teddy’s face sends alarms ringing into Steve’s. “Why’re you?”

Teddy’s face flushes red. His big hands cover his cheeks and he stares down his nose at his soda can. “Oh. Billy’s just—well you know. He feels the world’s thoughts. The last place he needs sadness is in his own home.”

They’re honest words spoken by a person who cares. Steve likes Teddy. While high school sweethearts aren’t as rampant as they used to be, Steve hopes they’ll become them. He and Bucky were childhood sweethearts. Nothing was impossible. Steve, an impossible man, was proof of that enough.

“Steve?” Bucky’s rough voice comes from the archway.

Steve’s up and staring, his soda long forgotten. He expects Bucky to change his mind. To say hurtful things or even scream. He looks so tired. There’s so much death in the hollows of his cheeks. The missing weight of an arm to his left. Steve expects him to fade away.

“I wanna go lie down. Will you come?”

Steve gives Teddy a pat on the shoulder before he joins Bucky. Wordless, they go upstairs together.

Bucky stares at the bed, its blankets rumpled and pillows beaten. Steve’s warm, his body too scared to move. There’s been so many times they tried to stand in this room together, only to resort to screams or tears. Steve doesn’t want that anymore. He understands now. Bucky needs to be Bucky again. It sounds silly, but when your agency’s ripped from you, your own fingers used against you—all you want is to be what you were before someone picked you up and broke you.

“Your PJ’s are still in the dresser,” Steve says.

Bucky shuffles over and slides the drawer out. He sighs, his thumb rubbing over flannel fabric.

Steve strips out of his traveling clothes and climbs into bed with just boxers on. His body is hot enough, but he knows Bucky likes the feeling of flannel. It’s why their very sheets are made of the stuff. Bucky hates being cold.

Bucky crawls into bed, his head falling onto Steve’s sternum. It’s a heavy weight followed by the curl of a body.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, his fingers stroking slowly up and down the middle of Bucky’s throat to his scalp. He looks down, watching the way Bucky’s eyes flutter.

“You can sleep,” Steve says.

Bucky pushes his face into Steve’s chest and inhales. He inhales so deep his chest rises off Steve’s side. He lets go of the breath, molding back into Steve once again. “Smell good.”

Steve smirks. “Hotel soap.”

He wants to help Bucky. Exhaustion is everywhere on Bucky’s skin. It drains him of color and ages his face, but Steve doesn’t know if Bucky’s fighting sleep because he wants to speak, or if he needs Steve to do _something_.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” Steve asks, quiet. “I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

Bucky closes his eyes. There’s a long pause where Steve’s unsure if he’s slipped to sleep or not. He breathes steady, his body close and heart pressed into Steve’s side. “I don’t’ even know what I want.”

“We could sleep?”

“I don’t wanna sleep. Not yet.” He pushes his face into Steve again, his beard rough and tickly.

Steve’s eyes slide shut, savoring the brittle feeling of Bucky’s jaw against his skin. He’s always loved that sensation. The tiniest things set Steve’s nerves on fire in the best ways, melting him slow like a stick of wax.

“I could give you a massage?” Steve offers.

Bucky frowns, his face contemplative. He lies back before rolling over. “With lotion?”

Steve kisses between Bucky’s shoulder blades. “With lotion.”

Steve goes over to the dresser and snags the bottle of Jergens. He settles atop the curve of Bucky’s ass, knees spread wide. He’s always liked it when people massaged him like this. The weight’s grounding.

Bucky grabs a pillow to give his neck more support, but otherwise he says nothing.

Steve drips a line of lotion down the dip of Bucky’s back before he splays his hands out and works into the skin. He starts slow, fingers circling, connecting freckles and moles as he goes. He shimmies down to get around Bucky’s hips and the small of his back.

“Mmmnnnn,” Bucky purrs.

Steve lets out a breathy laugh but he gets more lotion and moves back up to work at Bucky’s shoulders. He digs his thumbs in, still going in circular motions. He moves to the base of the skull and slides his hands down to spread out to each shoulder.

“God Steve, gonna get hard if you keep this up.”

Steve wants that though. Doesn’t matter if they even do anything about it. He just wants Bucky to feel so damn good he can’t take it.

He nestles back over Bucky’s thighs and massages at the top of Bucky’s round ass. He lets his fingers smooth lotion into the skin. He likes the gooseflesh that appears on Bucky’s body. The way he’s gasping and rocking into the bed.

Steve slips his fingers between Bucky’s asscheeks, his attention paused while he waits for Bucky to tell him no.

Bucky doesn’t say no.

Gentle, effortless and slow—Steve swirls his finger around Bucky’s rim. He smiles when Bucky moans low and long into the pillow. Encouraged, Steve takes a lotioned-up thumb and presses it inside. He keeps his fingers busy, circling as best he can around the rim.

Bucky hisses and shoves his face into the pillow.

Steve slips down the bed, replacing his thumb with his tongue.

Bucky whimpers, his legs spreading.

For once since things started getting bad, Steve isn’t thinking about how Bucky’s body is unshaven. He’s not thinking about _preparation_ or whether there’s lube in the little drawer on the nightstand. He’s thinking about how he wants to make his lover the happiest man alive. How he wants to bring Bucky to orgasm after orgasm because he deserves it after the pain he’s been through. How he wants to be that guy that Bucky’s been silent about needing for so long.

He bumps his nose on Bucky’s tailbone, tongue as deep as he can get it before he’s swirling it inside and letting it flick out. He laps at Bucky’s rim, curious and eager to please. He slips a finger inside, rocking back and forth.

“Gah— _God_!” Bucky gasps. He grabs another pillow and shoves it under his hips.

Steve works his tongue around Bucky’s rim, quick little licks that get Bucky shakier and shakier. He’s got three fingers inside Bucky now, working them slow in and out, curling them until they pop outside again only to be pushed back.

Bucky’s face is pushed into the pillow so hard that Steve worries he can’t breathe. He hears the violent exhales, sees his back rise when he sucks in, but Steve always worries.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Steve asks.

“Don’t just say it like that,” Bucky says.

Steve pauses, confusion rolling around in his mind like a bar of soap he can’t catch. He reaches out to grasp it but it slips away before he can. “Make love?”

“No!” Bucky looks over his shoulder, rims of his eyes red and cheeks pink.

Steve looks to the pillow and sees tiny little wet spots. He’d been crying.

Horrified, Steve says “Did I—”

“No!” Bucky turns around, grabbing Steve’s hands. “It just feels good. I just need you to—shit—it’s hard to even say.”

“Be rougher,” Steve says, because sometimes he needs it rougher too. When his mind is too loud, that’s how he gets it quiet again. He’s relied on Bucky for years to quiet his mind, and Bucky’s been so patient, the monsters so loud in his head.

“Yeah.” Bucky scratches his wrist before dropping his hands into his lap, cock flagging. “Is that okay?”

Steve knows words don’t say anything to Bucky. He grabs Bucky’s hands and gently guides them behind his head. “Turn around and put your head on the pillow. Ass up.”

Excitement flashes in Bucky’s eyes. He does exactly as Steve asks, eager and trembling.

Steve drags his nails down Bucky’s ass all the way to the backs of his knees. He watches red lines rise, angry and full of vigor.

Bucky leans back into the touch, in his throat a growl.

“You like it when I do that?” Steve asks, not really caring if he gets a response. It’s the part Bucky’s played for years. Now Steve dons the mask of someone who knows how to care for a broken man. The blind leading the blind. Two halves make a whole. Steve sighs, squeezing Bucky’s ass. He doesn’t want to think about the thousands of ways they’re both used up and done. They’ve got so much life left to live. Life even after everyone they know is gone.

Steve leans over to grab the bottle of lube from the nightstand. He squeezes it out, watching it slip down the contours of Bucky’s ass. Fingers swirl to spread it around, a few shy dips into Bucky just to tease him.

“Will you be good for me, Buck? Let me come in you?”

Bucky shivers, his head nodding exuberantly.

“Turn over, wanna watch you take my dick.”

Bucky does, his chest flushed and mouth panting.

Steve pushes his tip inside, his body ready to convulse and come immediately. Bucky’s _hot_ inside, and his muscles shake and quiver around him. But the most beautiful thing Steve sees is the look of relief that washes down Bucky’s face. He drops his head back, mouth open.

Steve bites where neck meets shoulder, and pushes hard into Bucky. He feels Bucky’s arms wrap around him, nails digging into skin. There’s a loud whine next to Steve’s ear and he knows he’s hurt Bucky. It’s too fast. He’d not been expecting it. But Steve knows Bucky wouldn’t have wanted it slow and gentle. Not when he needs to be fucked so hard his mind goes quiet.

He needs the quiet.

So Steve gives it to him.

Their bodies crash into each other, tongues lapping, teeth nipping and nails ripping. Steve rejoices in the feeling of Bucky’s nails breaking skin so blood meets cool air. He regails in the sounds Bucky makes when he shoves himself inside without much concern for Bucky’s body. Bucky can take it. He wants it.

“You like that?” Steve asks, voice husky. He doesn’t even recognize it. There’s life in it, a color he’s never seen but knows deep down. The color of his soul. Alive. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Make everything in you mine.”

Bucky mewls. He grips Steve’s neck and pulls him close for a kiss that’s all teeth and biting and blood.

Steve yanks back, gripping Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s cock jerks between them, purple and dripping. Begging. “Don’t you dare come before me.”

“St—Steve,” Bucky whispers out. “M-more.”

Steve picks him up and fucks him into the dresser. It knocks into the wall with each thrust. He knows Billy and Teddy can hear it, but he also knows Bucky can see it from the mirror on the other side of the room. And that makes the noise worth it.

Bucky’s hand grips Steve’s shoulder, his breath hot on Steve’s ear. He’s kissing Steve’s neck, a fever of kisses that come one after the other.

Steve’s hot, body sweating and shaking. Bucky’s weight is mostly on the dresser but there’s enough weight in Steve’s arms to make him work for it more than he’s used to. He yanks Bucky back and shoves him down onto the floor, grabbing Bucky’s dick.

“Look at you, just leaking all over. I said don’t come before me. You gonna listen?”

Bucky nods, his mouth babbling out nonsensical vowels, tears streaming from his eyes.

Steve wants to stop when he sees those. He catches one tear and slows just for a second, bending for a gentle kiss. Breathless he says, “I love you.”

Bucky smiles. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Steve wishes he were better at this. Thrusting deep into Bucky, aiming to push him further and further along the floor, he wishes he were better. Bucky makes it look effortless, but Steve knows with acute clarity how much thought goes into controlling the moment. Steve can’t let his mind wander. He can’t slip away. He has to be there for Bucky, to let Bucky slip away.

Steve grips Bucky’s cock. He palms over the tip, squeezing tight and letting Bucky fuck into his hand.

“Don’t come, Buck. I swear to God don’t you dare come.”

Bucky bites his hand, whimpering around the skin. He tries to jerk away from Steve’s hand, but Steve’s got him pinned. He fucks fast into Bucky, hips slapping hard into an ass that’s surely to bruise before their night’s up.

“Steve! Steve stop! Steve I’ll come!”

Steve doesn’t stop. Distantly he thinks about safewords but he _knows_ this isn’t that. Bucky’s trying to be good but Steve’s intent on making him come.

“Steve please, please, please!” Bucky slams his head back, skin flushed hot, belly pink. He grips Steve’s neck, clashing his mouth against Steve’s.

Steve forces him to orgasm, a violent arch of come that sprays onto Steve’s body and hits Bucky’s chest.

Bucky’s sobbing, breathless apologies that Steve doesn’t need.

“It’s okay,” Steve says before his heart bursts. “It’s okay. You did your best, baby. I know you did. I’m so proud of you.” He pulls Bucky’s sobbing form into his arms and rocks him. “You really did.”

Bucky clutches Steve, his heated form flush and tucked up close. “You didn’t come.”

“Not yet. Said I’m gonna mark all of you.”

Bucky’s eyes widen.

“Get on your knees.”

Bucky does, eager and vibrating. He wastes no time in scooping Steve’s cock into his mouth.

Steve wishes Bucky hadn’t cut his hair before they did this, but he won’t fault Bucky for trying to reclaim himself. He fists what he can, forcing Bucky to suck faster, to take more of Steve into him. Steve hears the gurgles and feels the muscles seize and choke around him.

He fucks hard into Bucky’s mouth, hips snapping with enough force to smack into Bucky’s face. He comes quick, seed filling Bucky’s throat.

“Drink it,” Steve says the same way he gives any order. It astonishes him how _easy_ it came out.

Bucky gurgles around Steve’s cock, throat working to swallow the come.

When Steve pulls back, he frowns at the tiny bruise to the side of Bucky’s mouth. He kneels in front of Bucky, thumbing over the mark.

“S’fine,” Bucky says, voice raspy. “I like this.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” Steve says truthfully.

“Then come back onto the bed with me and fuck me soft. We can cuddle after.”

Steve likes that idea. Together they fold into the bed, Steve’s cock still hard. He slips into Bucky with ease, his body rolling softly. The bed hardly moves.

Steve likes this. He likes the way Bucky’s eyes flutter closed. The way their bodies just exist together, two parts made whole. He relishes in the gasps and breathy curses Bucky utters.

In and out. In and out. He watches, transfixed at the way Bucky cradles him deep inside. Steve leans forward, body covering Bucky’s. They kiss, soft and easy. Tongues flit together, lips whisper their stories.

Bucky shivers, a surprised gasp at his mouth. He comes between their bodies, nothing but Steve inside him.

He wraps his arm around Steve, face buried in the crook of Steve’s neck. “Thank you,” he says.

“I’d do anything for you,” Steve kisses him, “don’t ever forget that.”

Steve comes again shortly thereafter.

* * *

When they wake up, they have morning sex. It’s fast and not nearly as exciting as last night but it’s sex all the same. When they get into the shower, Bucky drops to his knees and sucks Steve off till he comes again.

Steve’s gooey and warm inside, and it’s not even ten in the morning yet. Showered, clothed and well-fucked, he goes downstairs to make breakfast.

Teddy’s in the kitchen, a pile of sausages and bacon on a plate and eggs nearly finished. “Oh!”

“Morning,” Steve says.

“You uh—sleep well?” Teddy asks.

Steve contemplates how to answer that. Part of him wants to be sassy about it. The other part of him realizes this is his son’s boyfriend and there’s a line he shouldn’t cross there.

“Yeah. It’s nice havin’ Buck back.” Steve pours himself a cup of coffee. “Have you been cleaning up around here while I was gone?”

Teddy flushes red. “Billy’s needed the help. Tommy’s not exactly around.”

“Where does he go?” Steve asks.

Teddy shrugs a shoulder. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

A boy with the speed of Tommy shouldn’t exactly be left to his own devices. He could run halfway across the world and Steve would never find him. Except, an idea. Professor Xavier.

Bucky comes into the kitchen, his feet heavy and loud. Steve’s become so used to him walking like a ghost that he almost expects it to be someone else. Except there’s Bucky. Hair slicked back like he wore it in the 30s and a sleepy smile on his face.

Jesus, Steve’s cock is throbbing.

“You make all this?” Bucky asks Teddy.

“Thought it’d be nice.”

“Good kid!” Bucky takes a plate and starts piling up the food.

Steve likes how much of a portion Bucky takes. When Bucky eats, it’s the best sign that he’s getting better. Or at least he’s content.

Steve sits down, wincing. His hips are bruised from how tight Bucky clutched him. His back a mess of red ribbons. He can see the same red angry lines on Bucky’s shoulders where his undershirt doesn’t cover.

Teddy seems to be politely avoiding looking. Good kid.

“Why don’t you do a breakfast in bed kind of thing for Billy?” Steve says. “He’d really like that.”

Teddy seizes the opportunity like the smart kid he is and piles up a plate and bolts.

Bucky laughs. He makes his coffee, piling in far more sugar than what’s healthy and comes over to sit. He winces, a sharp hiss between his teeth.

“You okay?” Steve asks, reaching over and grabbing Bucky’s wrist.

“Sore,” Bucky says with a smile. “You fuck like a freight train. And I should know. I’ve fallen off one.”

Steve’s eyes round, horrified. But he sees the smile on Bucky’s lips. He’s tan, and his olive complexion is radiating in the morning sunlight. Soon Steve chuckles too.

They eat in silence, their feet grazing each other under the table. Steve slides his foot up Bucky’s ankle, watching Bucky from under a hooded gaze.

Bucky’s smiling, slowly chewing his bacon. He catches Steve’s eye and looks away, an embarrassed shrug. They’re kids again, flirting beneath the table while Sarah makes breakfast. Bucky’s beautiful in the morning light. Warm sunshine spills over his features, highlighting each freckle, the ever-changing color of his eyes. His hair is perfectly swept back and he looks like an angel, a living and breathing angel.

“I absolutely need to make love to you again,” Steve says.

Bucky barks out a laugh and promptly chokes on his food. “We’ve had sex like three times this morning.”

“I don’t care,” Steve says, “I need more.”

Bucky chugs down his coffee and grabs Steve by the balls. He yanks him up, a sinister grin on his face. “Want your turn though? My ass can’t take anymore bruises. But yours is all nice and ready for ‘em.”

“Oh fuck yes,” Steve purs.

* * *

It’s night. Teddy and Billy are on the sofa downstairs. Pizza’s ordered and they’re on tip duty.

Steve’s got his hands in Bucky’s hair, fingers grazing scalp in nonsensical patterns. They’re on the bed, both watching the ceiling fan spin and spin. They’ve spent most of the day fucking or talking about fucking. They can’t move. Steve’s pretty sure he’s actually exhausted. He’s come so many times his balls ache and feel too loose on his body.

They’re both naked, sheets long since tossed aside. There’s fog on the mirror. They should probably open a window. The scent of sex and sweat will get to Steve’s sensitive nose eventually. The thought of rolling off the bed though sounds worse than getting a tooth pulled. And he’s got his fingers in Bucky’s hair.

Bucky’s splayed out, dick soft and pressed between them. One leg is tossed over Steve and the other is hanging off the bed. He’s got his eyes closed, lips parted. He looks so beautiful, so young. Steve wants to cry.

Bucky had been this young once. Before the war. Before the serum. Before Steve decided to hop a train and find Zola. Before everything. Bucky had been young. Young, dumb, and alive.

Steve knows he can’t ever expect to know that same Bucky again. He’s not the same Steve. He’s seen war. Seen children dead. He’s seen gods fly and cities fall from the skies. They are not the people they used to be.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers.

It’s so soft Steve almost doesn’t catch it. He replays that breathy tone over and over in his head. He savors the vowels, the crisp shortness of it all. _I love you_. So small, and yet so profound.

“I love you too,” Steve says. “I’m so glad you came home.” He squeezes Bucky in a tight embrace.

“Yeah. Me too. I’m so sorry I hurt you like that.” Bucky leans up, looking down with pleading eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve let me back after how much I hurt you.”

“Hey,” Steve cups Bucky’s face, “don’t talk like that. I was just confused. I don’t want us to dwell on that anymore. You’re here again.”

“We’re divorced,” Bucky says like someone’s holding a gun to his head. It’s clipped and there’s a resigned snip to it.

Steve’s heart squeezes. A title is just a title, but their marriage was important. Steve technically owns everything now, even though Bucky is back. “We could go to the courthouse and get married again?”

“D’you think Tommy would be okay with that?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t think he gets a say in that. That’s you and me.”

“We’re his parents, Steve, of course he gets a say!” Bucky rolls over and opens the window Steve couldn’t find the strength to open. He stands before it. Ass bruised, body full of bites and red lines. Steve’s now looks much the same. He falls back onto the bed, blowing a raspberry with his lips.

“I can’t do this if Tommy isn’t in it too,” Bucky says.

“Okay.” Steve sits up, rubbing his hand back and forth atop his hair. He doesn’t want to get out of bed and there’s nothing to be done about it now. Professor Xavier is their best bet to finding Tommy. They’ll eat their pizza tonight and maybe blow each other before passing out.

Steve’s not even sure he wants to do that, the blowing. His balls _ache_. He cups them, trying to rub some comfort into them, but all it does is make his dick go softer. He absolutely doesn’t want to be blown.

“We’ll find him tomorrow,” Steve says.

“Good.”

* * *

Steve hopes Bucky’s happy in Charles Xavier’s school. People are stopping them, wide smiles and hastily grabbed notebooks for signatures. Girls are giggling and asking for selfies with Bucky. He’s not a monster to them. He’s a hero.

The wide halls, filled with their ornate architecture, towering landscape paintings and doors that lead to knowledge and promise fill Steve with inspiration. A vigor he hasn’t felt in decades. He wants to be something again. A father. A husband. A friend. Those are all noble, and he loves each job equally. But he’s always strived for purpose. Meaning. A legacy isn’t something he needs. But a goal? A dream? He does. Without dreams, people waste away. He wants to be a dreamer again.

“Rogers and Barnes, what a surprise,” Professor Xavier says as he comes down the hall on his wheelchair. The students part for him, all kind smiles and soft greetings. He greets them back, a proud smile on his face.

“Tommy’s not here, is he?” Steve asks, cutting to the chase.

Xavier’s face falls. He continues down the halls and motions for Steve and Bucky to follow.

They follow him into an elevator that hisses shut, a rolling “X” coming to lock it in place. Steve’s stomach flips in excitement.

“Tommy is an exceptional student,” Xavier says. “His aptitude tests are high. He has passion and drive. The issue is finding him a goal.”

Steve sighs. He sounds so much like his own kid it’s almost odd for Steve to remember Tommy isn’t genetically his. He wonders how nature versus nurture really plays into it. Sometimes he swears Billy looks like Bucky.

They stop at a lower level with shining white lights, tile walls that glow and hum. This is where the X-Men conduct their business. Where the Avengers never found true unity, only united in times of great crisis, the X-Men stayed strong. Stronger together. If only the Avengers had felt the same.

“I’ve been monitoring both Billy and him. Billy’s power could rival Stephen Strange’s if properly trained. We take great care in making sure he controls it. If he slips, the cost could be devastating.”

“Does Strange still work with him here?” Steve asks.

“Absolutely. Once a week. I think Strange would’ve liked to see you these past months, but with your current—private matters—he’s kept away.”

Steve’s stomach churns. Does the whole world know he and Bucky have been struggling? Billy reads minds. Strange can teleport. Xavier knows basically everything. Is it just these extraordinary men or are there others? Natasha knows. Sam. But Steve trusts them to keep it close to their chests.

“Tell him he’s always allowed at our house,” Bucky says. “And things are better. We’re—things are better.” He grabs Steve’s hand as if to prove the point.

“I’m not here to judge you. I’ve had my own difficulties with romance.” There’s a sad smile on his face. One that Steve knows all too well. He’s carried that same smile on his face day in and day out since he started feeling Bucky slip away. Someone dear to Xavier had left him, and they had never come back.

Xavier opens up a door to a round room with a machine in the middle. He rolls out onto it, taking a helmet. “This allows me to see all mutants. Some aware of their power, some not. Amplified, I can find Tommy.”

“Why haven’t you before?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t sound accusatory, but there’s a sharp edge to his tone, a threat gone unsaid.

“Is it my business? Or yours?” Xavier says.

Steve appreciates the respect. Xavier could bring down the world with his mind, control everyone. His respect for autonomy is unparalleled.

Both Steve and Bucky step back while Professor Xavier works. A holographic picture of the world comes up, little lights shining on all continents. There’s blue ones and red ones, yellow ones, and some gathered and some alone. Steve’s mouth drops open. There’s _so many_. As an Enhanced, he’s not classified as a mutant, and the amount of Enhanced is significantly less. Steve expected mutants to be just as rare, if not more. But there they are. Millions of them.

“Jesus,” Bucky says, eloquently putting into words how Steve feels.

The lights start going off, a few hundred. A thousand. Millions. The world is left dark except for one shining light. A little blue one.

“Tommy,” Steve says, a rush of emotions wavering inside. He tears up when he sees his son is all the way in California. Of course he is though. He can go anywhere and still be home for dinner. Not that he’s wanted to be around for dinner since Bucky came home.

“Scott can fly the jet out and take you there,” Xavier says. “Should you wish.”

“We wish,” Bucky says.

Scott Summers. Cyclops. It’d been awhile since Steve had met him, but he’d been kind and reserved. The type of man Steve didn’t have to feel overwhelmed around. He’d liked him.

“Then follow me,” Xavier said.

* * *

The jet was larger than the quinjets Steve used to ride in. Its engines roar loud behind them, turbulence knocking it every so often. It pressed on, dedicated and loyal.

Bucky sat in the front with Scott, both of them regaling each other about their struggles of being seen as monsters. Scott has never learned to stop his powers without his sunglasses. There’s a guilt there that Steve understands. One that tries to reach out and convince Scott he’s unworthy, that he should be the monster. Bucky has felt the same way. The Wakandans had done their best to convince Bucky otherwise. From Winter Soldier to White Wolf. He’d been better for a time.

But maybe he’d been pretending all the while.  

Bucky swivels out of his chair and walks back over to Steve. He sits across from him, taking both hands in his. Rough hands. Hands that’ve seen war in more decades than any human should ever. Centuries even.

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

“Seriously, Buck? Our kid’s runaway to California and I don’t know how I’m going to make it better.”

Bucky purses his lips. He sits back, dropping Steve’s hands. “This isn’t for you to make better though. This is on me.”

“He’s so angry.”

“He’s a teenage boy. They’re all angry. God, do you remember _you_? You were a pistol always ready to fire.”

Steve smirks. He’d been angry most his life though. Whether it was circumstance or how the world decided to take everything from him too young. His mother. His war-hero father. That’d started it all. Then he’d grown up with a sexuality that just didn’t exist back then. Peggy. Bucky. Steve sighs, it’d take too long to pick out each little thing the world had taken from Steve. The only thing it’d ever given back was Bucky, and Steve was so scared even he would be taken too.

“Thank you for letting me do this,” Bucky says. He leans forward, brushing his lips against Steve’s forehead. It’s not a kiss. It’s more intimate. An exchange of some sorts. He goes back over to Scott and they chat again, like Bucky had never left.

Steve stares at his hands, the ghost of Bucky’s lips on his forehead. He just wants his family back.

* * *

When Bucky finds Tommy, he’s standing out on an ocean pier, his white hair ruffling in the wind. Steve stays back, afraid to influence Tommy with peer pressure. He doesn’t want Tommy to just accept Bucky because it’s what Steve wants. Bucky wouldn’t want that either. He wants this honest. Real.

Steve watches the way Tommy’s muscles quake. He shifts on his feet, a decision he can’t quite seem to find. It fumbles from him, dances close and skitters away. He stays, body tense, face unreadable for Steve so far away.

Steve looks out at the ocean, waves crashing over and over again. An eternal cycle. There’s comfort in knowing Steve won’t outlive an ocean. Or at least he hopes to not. Three hundred sounds painful enough. He doesn’t want thousands of years of life. He doesn’t even want what he’s been given.

Bucky’s speaking, Steve can see it from the way his shoulders move, the way his body twists. That’s a good sign. Tommy isn’t running. Tommy could run across the ocean before the water even breaks. He’s not running.

Steve wishes he could hear them. Wishes he were by Bucky’s side. But it’s not fair. It’s a pressure he doesn’t want to put on Tommy. Tommy will be ready when he’s ready. Steve just hopes that time is now.

“YOU LEFT US!” Tommy screams, a bellow so powerful it shakes Steve’s bones.

Steve looks up, his eyes round. He wants to run closer. He’s so scared Tommy will leave again. There’s men on other planets. All Tommy has to do is shout loud enough and Steve’s sure one will hear and take him. THe Guardians of the Galaxy. Thor. Loki. Heimdall. One will hear. One who may not even be good.

Steve can’t take it anymore. He runs toward the edge of the pier. Faces come into focus, the desperation and tears on Tommy’s face tearing at Steve’s soul.

“I can’t be myself if I’m being someone else,” Bucky says when Steve comes as close as he feels comfortable. “I love you and Billy.”

“No you don’t!” Tommy spits back. “All you’ve ever loved is him.” He points at Steve, and for once, Steve can feel the scorn and anger Tommy feels. The complete abandonment. He’s known it’s there. He’s just never felt it turned toward him.

“That’s unfair,” Bucky says.

“Oh fuck off, _Barnes_. White Wolf. _Winter Soldier_. Whatever you are.”

Bucky grits his teeth.

Tommy shakes his head scoffing. “You’ve never been my dad. My dad’s missing. My real mom never even wanted me.” More tears fall from Tommy’s cheeks. “No one’s ever wanted me.”

“I wanted you,” Steve said.

“She dropped me off at your _door_!” Tommy says, his voice strained, the vein in his throat bulging. “You didn’t have a choice!”

“That’s not true,” Bucky says, stepping closer. “Professor Xavier offered to take you both in. Dr. Strange as well. We wanted you. You were a blessing we could never have, and I’m so sorry I’ve lost my way with you.”

Tommy wipes at his eyes, sniffling.

“I loved every breath you took when you were a baby. Every snot bubble. Every dirty diaper. I fell in love with a man that couldn’t give me children, so God gave me you.”

Steve’s breath hitches. It’d been so long since he’d heard Bucky speak of God. A lifetime.

“Tommy I swear we wanted you. We just didn’t know how we could ever get you. And then there you were. Perfect and tiny and you needed us.” Bucky takes another step closer. “And we needed you.”

“Do you mean that?” Tommy asks, wiping more tears from his eyes. “I swear to God if you lie to me I’ll know.”

“Look me right in the face, Tommy,” Bucky says. He steps closer, his hand now on Tommy’s shoulders, his hair swept back to show the angles of his cheeks, the intensity of his eyes. He’s the man he’d always wanted to be. Not the White Wolf. Not the Winter Soldier. He’s just Bucky Barnes. Father. Husband.

Just Bucky Barnes.

“You and Billy,” Bucky says, “were the best things that ever happened to me. And I don’t regret a day that I’ve had with you.”

Tommy breaks down, his face falling into Bucky’s chest. Bucky swoops around him, a protective stag to his fawn. He holds Tommy close, their faces obstructed by each other’s body.

Steve gets closer now, his arms wide. He holds his family tight, feeling the shakes of shoulders, the sharp hisses of sniffles. He holds them so close it hurts. His heart aching, bleeding for them. It’s so big now, holding this healing family inside it. Not broken. Just mending.

“I love you, Daddy,” Tommy says.

A guttural sound comes from Bucky’s throat. He clutches Tommy tighter, hand wrapped around the back of Tommy’s neck.

Steve doesn’t care about the people walking the pier. The people on the sandy beaches below them. He doesn’t even know if they care about them.

Steve has his family back. They’re all together again. Unified, healing. A second chance.

As the tears slip from Steve’s eyes, he feels a thumb brush against his face, trailing over his nose. He looks down to see Tommy smiling up at him. He’s grown so much he’s nearly Steve’s height. There’s a weak smile on his son’s face, eyes glassy and round. No more fear. No more anger. Just Tommy. Happy, quirky, quick-as-a-lick Tommy.

They go home together in the jet, tears still silently falling from their eyes.

* * *

Steve wakes up to the feeling of a sharp elbow in his gut and either a head or knee to his groin. He jerks up, his bed far too bumpy than normal. He’d gone all out at Clint’s suggestion. “Even you super-soldiers need good spinal support, Steve!” Cooling memory foam. Steve had never regretting shelling out the money the mattress cost him after the first night he’d slept on it.

“Wha—”

Steve’s eyes adjust to the darkness. There in the corner of the bed is Bucky. He’s curled up against the headboard, pillows all piled behind his head and shoulders. Billy’s on his side, sprawled with his knee close enough to Steve that Steve can surmise Billy had been the culprit that hit him in the groin.

Teddy’s there too, lying across the bottom of the bed like a dog, all broad shoulders and faint snores. Steve chuckles. That boy deserves a medal for sticking around this family’s brand of crazy.

Tommy’s on Steve’s side, his elbow the reason Steve woke in the first place. His mouth is open wide, little snores whispering out with each inhale. Hair a mess.

Steve reaches over and grabs Bucky’s knee. Bucky’s hand comes out to lace his fingers in Steve’s.

“Not sleeping?” Steve whispers.

“We have company.” Bucky looks around the bed. “But it’s the best damn company I’ve had in decades.”

“I want you to know,” Steve says, “that I support you in everything. I was an idiot before. But I’m here for you. Anything and everything.”

Bucky squeezes his hand and lays his head back. “Go to sleep, Steve.”

“I mean it,” Steve says, his heart lurching in his chest. He doesn’t want Bucky to pull away again. It leaves Steve winded with the world spinning. The house’s walls too close to sit still.

“I know you do, baby,” Bucky says softly. “I believe you.”

Steve wants to wiggle out from his kid-sandwich to hold Bucky. He’s all scrunched up in the corner with no leg room to speak of. Their kids a spread-out mess.

Steve shimmies as best he can and manages to squirm under Billy, who only grumbles and falls back to sleep. Ah, to be a kid again. Sleep came so easily until one day it didn’t. The coughs started. The pain. The sweats. Then the war. Then the nightmare after it.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s middle, head in Bucky’s lap because he can’t get any closer. “I’d spoon you except we’ve got three kids in the bed.”

“I knew we should’ve gotten a king-sized bed,” Bucky says, lamenting with a sigh. He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I love you, Steve. So much.”

Steve’s so happy he could cry until the world drowned. A rolling crack of thunder makes its presence known. It’s calm and gentle, a conversation only the gods can understand far above them. Steve’s eyes can’t drown the world, but the rain can. He wonders if it will.

“I love you, too,” Steve says, heart squeezing.

* * *

Steve doesn’t expect the King of Wakanda to be at his door the following morning. He doesn’t expect the bubbling, smiling Shuri to scamper into the house without so much as a hello, either.

Steve should be used to this kind of thing by now. Except he’s not. He’s somehow always surprised.

“Where is he?” Shuri pokes her head into the kitchen.

“Who?” Steve asks. He takes a moment to rub at his neck because sleeping in Bucky’s lap all night wasn’t the best decision of Steve’s life.

“Bucky!” Shuri pulls out a tiny little object and rolls it between her fingers. It’s coin-shaped and black. “I’ve got something for him.”

Steve looks back at T’Challa, and then at Shuri again when T’Challa just smirks at him. “He’s upstairs with the kids. They’re all still sleeping.”

“Oh!” Shuri scampers up the stairs, and Steve hears thunderous feet above him.

“Good morning, Steve,” T’Challa says as he steps into the home finally. “Things are better, I hope?”

“They’re getting there,” Steve says, unsure of how much T’Challa knows, and who told him the rest he hadn’t known. Natasha, probably. She has a way of making sure everyone knows what’s happening with each other.

“I got your message.” T’Challa stops by a painting in the family room and smiles. “You got this in Wakanda.” It’s a purple sunset with a tree all done up in black. Steve didn’t pick it for its details. He picked it for the amount of weight and power the tree seemed to have.

“Is that what Shuri has? An arm for him?”

T’Challa looks up at the ceiling when more pairs of feet sing out their boisterous sounds. He doesn’t answer.

Shuri comes down the stairs with Billy. Tommy’s somehow already in the kitchen. Bucky’s behind them all, a flesh arm on his left side.

“That’s an arm,” Steve says. Ever observant.

Bucky wiggles his fingers, his face pink and smiling. He doesn’t look like the man he’d been made to be. He looks like the man he should have been. His bangs hang to the side of his forehead, his cowlick up in the back. He’s bigger than the man who’d left for war all those years ago, but he’s still him. Bucky’s inside him again, burning bright and screaming loud.

Their eyes meet, and Steve’s heart skips a beat, breath hitching. He’s frozen as Bucky scoops him up in his arms and twirls him around. Twirls. Steve’s feet leave the floor, his body spinning in air.

They’re back in Brooklyn. A dusty record plays in the corner of the room. It skips from being warped, but neither of them cares. Bucky lets Steve stand on his toes ‘cause he’s so small and he can’t dance when Bucky doesn’t let them move like this. Steve’s skinny little arms are around Bucky’s neck, both smiling, eyes bright and full of possibility. Adventure. Intrigue. The walls are brown and peeling. Light spills in, yellow and faded all at once.

“Buck,” Steve gasps out. “Look at you.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided, his eyes just as jubilant as the rest of his body. He puts Steve down and they’re back in upstate New York. Billy, Teddy, Tommy. T’Challa and Shuri. Steve’s not small. The walls aren’t fading or cracked.

But Bucky’s still just the same as when he’d gone off to war, all smiles and shimmering eyes. Tousled brown hair. Steve reaches up to make sure it’s real.

“I love you, Steve Rogers-Barnes,” Bucky says.

“I love you too, Bucky Barnes-Rogers.” It’s stupid and cheesy and Shuri doesn’t let the moment linger before she’s on about grandpas in love. Steve swears she says someone needs to check their pulses to make sure they’re in sinus rhythm.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, his hand cupping short brown strands like it had so many times before Bucky fell from that cursed train. He closes his eyes, tears stinging.

After all this time. All the tears, the blood, the fear, the excitement. After snotty noses and screaming babies. After aging friends and aliens, and more aliens. After Thanos. After everything.

They still love each other.

They will always. Love each other.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Add me on tumblr! [@Buckmebxrnes](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/)


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